Scarlet Woman
by Flo
Summary: Neville Longbottom, fresh from Hogwarts, is a very confused boy. Mrs. Weasley, bored of her marriage decides to seduce him. Based on The Graduate.
1. Default Chapter

That afternoon in August, I was very surprised to find that even I was bored. The sky was cloudy, the sherry was stale and the balloons flopped miserably on their pale strings. The banner pinned up with blu-tack to the front of the house read "WELL DONE EVIL !"  
  
The N, the extra L and the E had fallen off at the beginning of the party, and no one had bothered to stick them back on.  
  
I wasn't ungrateful, I knew how Gran and the others had gone to great lengths of trouble to organise this party for me. They hadn't expected me to pass my exams and leave Hogwarts with a good set of grades- even I hadn't- but for once, they were all proud of me. This party was their way of showing that they cared, so I was trying to make the most of it.  
  
We were all sitting on little plastic chairs on the grass. Gran had invited all the people I had known at school, as well as their parents. I suppose, it was a great chance to socialise, only nobody seemed to be doing that. There were long, bored, awkward silences, sometimes followed by a pleasant little comment like, "I'd never have thought of putting cheese with pineapple! And on a cocktail stick too..". We all sipped our sickly sherry, untouched plates of cocktail sausages and chocolate fingers on our laps.  
  
I looked over at Ron, who was staring wildly around, probably looking for an escape route. But I couldn't see Ginny anywhere. I felt a pang of dissapointment for a second, before Gran put on a very dated Party Hits 1995 CD and tried to get everybody on their feet. At this point, I had to leave.  
  
I walked through to the kitchen, planning to take refuge there until the music stopped playing. On the fridge was a note, "Buy Cat's Ointment". I couldn't remember ever having a cat, and the note was just plain nasty on a fridge door, so I peeled it off.  
  
"Hello," a warm voice said, from the kitchen table. I looked to the source of the voice. My heart skipped a beat. It was her, Ginny. Ginny..  
  
She looked beautiful in a long black dress. Her hair burned brightly against the black, and it fell loosely over her shoulders in soft waves. She gave me that smile, her cheeks glowing pink. Ginny radiated warmth, and I could feel her heat from halfway across the room.  
  
"What's up, Evil?", she asked. I cringed, trying to stop my face from going traffic-light-red.  
  
"You've seen the banner then..?", I managed to stammer, feeling sweat drip down my forehead as she looked into my eyes.  
  
"Are you OK?"  
  
Am I OK... Funny, I seem to have gone completely numb.  
  
"Yes. Yesss. Fine, great party, don't you think?" I gurgle, before giving an apologetic smile and returning to the garden, hoping to hold on to that one last shred of dignity.  
  
*  
  
At about five o' clock, I cut the cake. Mrs. Weasley had made it for me. I liked Gran having links to Mrs. Weasley, it meant that I had links to Ginny. I had never got to know Mrs. Weasley, but she seemed like a nice woman. A bit like the mum I missed and needed sometimes.  
  
When the cake was finished, Mrs. Weasley took my arm.  
  
"Neville, dear, would you mind taking me home? I've lost the others and I do like a man's arm to hold on to."  
  
I nodded. It was only right to repay her for making that vast cake. She linked her soft arm through mine and led me through the gate, out on to the country lane.  
  
We walked for quite a while before either of us spoke. Mrs. Weasly looked up to the sky.  
  
"Good lord, it's going to rain! Hurry!" * We finally arrived outside The Burrow.  
  
"Well, here you are, Mrs. Weasley." I smiled courteously. "Goodbye."  
  
She gave me a strange look.  
  
"But you're soaked through. Come inside and dry off."  
  
That look in her eyes was so strange. Her eyes were warm, like Ginny's. She gave off heat too, only hers was cooler and thicker. I nodded again, rain beating down upon our necks. She ran to the door and unlocked it quickly, ushering me inside.  
  
I sat down in a worn looking paisley armchair, whilst she busied herself in the kitchen. A copy of the Daily Prophet was on the table, and I noticed that a page had been dog-eared. On closer inspection, the page was Aphrodite Smith's Ladies' Advice Column. The headline jumped off the page, "WHAT TO DO WHEN YOUR MARRIAGE GOES STALE".  
  
I refolded the page and flung the paper back down as she walked in with two large brandies. 


	2. Encounter with a flame haired temptress

Mrs. Weasley set the brandies on the table. She had put on a fluffy cream dressing gown, which flew behind her when she walked. She looked warm and cosy, and I automatically wanted her to hold me like a mother would.  
  
"Ron doesn't talk about you much,", she observed in a gentle Devonshire slur. I gave her the same apologetic smile I had given Ginny earlier.  
  
"There's not much to talk about," I said, taking a cautious sip of the brandy. It was potent stuff; stinging the back of my throat and I was trying with all my might not to spit it out.  
  
"You have a lovely house, Mrs. Weasley," I offered, setting the brandy back on the table.  
  
She smiled, stroking her armchair lovingly. Then her eyes darted to the newspaper, which lay open upon the table. I saw a change in her face; her eyes seemed to be burning.  
  
"Would you like a drink, Neville?"  
  
I blinked.  
  
"Er, Mrs. Weasley, I've already got a drink."  
  
She looked quite confused for a second. Then she laughed girlishly.  
  
"Why, so you have. I may be losing it in my old age."  
  
"You're not old, Mrs. Weasley." I actually had no idea how old she was. The lines on her face didn't give it away; they were kind lines, creases from years of laughter. She cocked her head to one side, and her lips parted into a curious smile.  
  
"Do you really think so?" She looked into my eyes. Her eyes drew me to her. They were so young. At times they looked wide and vulnerable, but now they were sparkling mischievously. She padded across to me in her husband's corduroy slippers and sat on the arm of my chair. The heat coming from her was intense.  
  
"Would you say I was an..", she paused for breath. I watched her impressive chest rise and fall. ".. attractive woman?"  
  
No, I wouldn't. This was the godly Ginny's mother. Her mother! She could be three times my age!  
  
I made a kind of choking noise in my throat. My cheeks were burning, and I knew that I had gone beyond traffic-light-red.  
  
Mrs. Weasley nodded slowly, and began to get up. I breathed an internal sigh of relief. I opened my mouth, about to excuse myself. However, before I got the chance to make my grand exit, she had managed to lunge herself at me, her voluptuous body pressing against mine. She pulled me into a deep kiss, so deep that I could barely remove myself As she stuck her tongue in my mouth, I could only think of Gran's appalled face. In my head, Gran was omnipresent and whenever I did something I shouldn't be doing, she would glare down at me with the ultimate disapproval.  
  
I finally managed to pull myself away.  
  
"Mrs. Weasley!" I gasped. "You- I- er- we- you.. You!" Once again, my vocabulary had flew out of the window.  
  
She leant back on the arm of the chair, stroking my hair. Despite my trying not to, I liked it. It was nice to be touched with such affection. Once again, I was reminded of the mother figure that was missing.  
  
"Oh, Neville,", she sighed, now twisting little strands of my hair around her stubby finger. "What am I going to do with myself?"  
  
I coughed and turned away, having a very good idea of what Mrs. Weasley had in mind. She took off her husband's slippers, examined them and then lay them on the floor.  
  
"You see, when you get to this age, " she began, "you get awfully lonely. You start to want to be young again. "  
  
She trailed off, and an uncomfortable silence followed. She lined her husband's slippers up neatly and looked straight into my eyes, taking me by surprise.  
  
"Would you like to go to bed?"  
  
At first, I was confused. Perhaps I looked tired or something. I hoped she didn't think she was boring me.. Then I looked at her face, and it dawned on me. Her eyes were glittering like diamonds now, her milky cheeks flushed. Her full, rosy lips curved into a suggestive smile.  
  
Mrs. Weasley! And me! A bad thought, a naughty thought, a- strangely arousing thought. "Bored housewife is serviced by innocent young man".. It was completely wrong, of course. But I'd been good all my life, one taste of badness couldn't hurt.  
  
But Mrs. Weasley was a married woman. Imagine if Mr. Weasley found out, or Ron, or Ginny... Ginny! I couldn't do that to her. It would be wrong.  
  
Wrong.  
  
"Mrs. Weasley," I stuttered, trying to avoid eye contact. "I afraid I won't.." Damn, I could never say the word "sex" when I needed to. "I'm afraid I won't be.." What was it about me and getting tongue tied at the wrong time?  
  
"Mrs. Weasley, I can't participate in any activities of a sexual nature with you!"  
  
Oh dear..  
  
Her face softened. Sbe nodded, even looking slightly embarrassed. I felt sorry for her at that moment.  
  
"Bless you," she murmured. "At least one of us has got some morals."  
  
She turned to the stairs. The carpet on them was threadbare, reminding me of spider's webs. She walked with her head held high and her shoulders back, like she was proud of herself. The way I wanted to be, what I desired the most in the world.  
  
To my great surprise, I followed her into the bedroom and she turned off all the lights. 


	3. Cinnamon

Gran was looking down on us, down that fantastic beak of hers. She tutted, shaking her head slowly. Her feathered hat sat proudly on her head, making demonic shadows around her eyes which stood out, glared, watched my every movement.  
  
Mrs. Weasley turned on the light.  
  
"What are you thinking about, lover?"  
  
Lover.. I'd gone from being a nobody to a lover in thirty minutes. Not bad. But, of course, not good either.  
  
"Please don't call me lover, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
We lay on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bed, under the rather nasty brown paisley quilt. I could feel her soft body surrounding me, folding into my own. Around us, drops of rain beat down on the cracked window. The crack was thin and spidery, spreading its wispy branches along the smoky glass. I turned on to my back and exhaled.  
  
"If I tell you what I was thinking about, Mrs. Weasley, will you promise not to laugh or think I'm weird?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley made a strange grunting noise, which I took to mean that she agreed.  
  
"Well, it's like this. Ever since I was little- like, when I was five and I stole Wayne McFee's yellow crayon or when I was eight and I set the cat on fire-"  
  
She stared at me, horrified.  
  
"Oh, Spot was OK, her fur just never happened to grow back. But, er, that's not the point. Basically, whenever I do something bad or wrong, I-"  
  
She laughed richly, so that the bed shook. She sat up, and I became fully aware of her body. I had always loved a woman with curves, and Mrs. Weasley, I had noticed, was about a million times better than Marylin Monroe. But I wasn't going to fall in love with her. Or fancy her. Or sleep with her ever again- bad Neville, naughty Neville!  
  
But her red hair, splayed out on the pillow, surrounded me.. Cinnamon scented, flame coloured hair, flecked in places with misty grey. I tentatively took a strand of her hair, and twirling it round my fingers, I spoke again.  
  
"Mrs. Weasley, what we've just done.. Well, don't you feel guilty at all?"  
  
She was pulling on her husband's wooly green socks now.  
  
"I mean, we just.. er.. had..". Sex. Still couldn't say it. "You just slept with me and you're sitting there in your husband's socks."  
  
"Neville, dear, it's just sex. You give me what Arthur can't, what's wrong with that? It'll be our little secret, ", she said, tapping her nose, but her eyes didn't quite meet mine.  
  
I was horrified. An hour ago, I hadn't even known Mrs. Weasley. She had been Ron's mum, Gran's friend and the lady who made my birthday cake. I hadn't even noticed that she was beautiful. And now, somehow I ended up in bed with her, more than acquainted. My halo had not only slipped, it had run away in disgust.  
  
"Mrs. Weasley, this shouldn't have happened. It was wrong." I hopped around the room on one leg, unsuccessfully trying to pull on my trousers with dignity.  
  
"I'm very sorry if I misled you,", I muttered thickly through a mouthful of wool as I pulled my jumper over my head. "I'll see myself out."  
  
And as I strode out of that gate, I made a promise to myself that I, Neville Longbottom- not Evil Longbottom- would not be seeing Mrs. Weasley again. 


	4. The mudwrestling princess and a rather s...

It was a long Sunday afternoon. Gran had forced me to accompany her to the annual Apple Fair. It was raining non-stop, soaking through our umbrellas as our incredibly uncool welly boots sloshed through thick mud. Many locals were about, all over forty and all sporting those luminous mackintoshes that haven't been sold for years. I began to panic that Mrs. Weasley might be amongst them. I had managed to avoid her since the.. episode after my party. But sooner or later, I would have to face her. Perhaps she would be embarrassed about the whole thing. I could tell her it was OK, happens to a lot of women her age. On the other hand, she might still want me. And, of course, I would say no and that she should pull herself together.  
  
Gran stopped in front of Mrs. Garrett's cider stand, pouring herself a sample immediately. Remembering what happened last year at the cider stand, I left Gran to her own devices and wandered off. I squelched miserably through soggy field, passing solitary tractors as I went. I held my head down, hair plastered to my head with water. As a result, I couldn't see where I was going and was scared out of my wits when I heard a voice calling my name.  
  
I looked up, and there she was. Standing under a cherry red umbrella, hair whipping out behind her. I sighed softly to myself. Even streaked with mud, soaked with Devonshire rain, Ginny Weasley was beautiful.  
  
She trudged through to me in her brother's clumpy boots. "Having fun, Nev?", she asked, sheltering us both with the umbrella and surrounding us in a surreal red glow. Even in this weather, she was warm, her cosy heat flowing through me.  
  
I'd have blushed, if it weren't for the fact that my face had gone numb some time ago.  
  
"Not really,", I managed to say, clenching my teeth against the stammer. Unable to control myself, I added, "You look... n... nice."  
  
Ginny laughed. "No I don't, Evil, and neither do you. We look like a pair of drowned rats."  
  
True, but what a beautiful rat you are, Virginia.  
  
She smiled at me, reducing me to a quivering ball of mud. Her eyes had the same burning look I had seen in her mother's. Oh God, the things her mother had done to me! I overbalanced, slipping gracefully on to my bum. I brought Ginny down with me, shrieking with laughter.  
  
Ginny brought a mud coated hand to my cheek and streaked it twice, like warpaint. I did the same to her, my hands trembling at the touch of her skin. She looked exotic now, like a fire goddess. She smudged the tip of my nose, turning me into what must have been a rather scary bunny. All the time we laughed. Ginny laughed with her head back and her mouth wide open, fully enjoying the moment. I merely giggled, more unsure of myself than I had probably ever been in my whole life.  
  
Ginny grabbed my arm, shouting "Tag!" and sped off in the opposite direction. I stumbled after her, praying my asthma wouldn't play me up. I had lost my inhaler at Hogwarts with seven books, my hat and the greatest loss of all: Trevor.  
  
"Ginny-Ginny-Ginny!" I called. "Vir-gin-iaaaaa!" I was beginning to enjoy our childish game, because to tell the truth, I had never played as a child. I started to enjoy the feeling of great blobs of rain dripping down my face as I ran, guided by the wind. Ginny started to slow down near the tractors. I took my opportunity to run my fastest, throwing myself at her in a bizarre spread-eagled rugby tackle. It felt good. Not only had I won the game, but Ginny- the godly, saintly, beautiful Ginny was lying beneath me. Nice work, Longbottom.  
  
"That's not fair!", Ginny panted, struggling. I gave her my best evil laugh, and for a second I thought I actually scared her. But I should have known that the Weasley women are strong and can manipulate any situation to turn their way. In seconds, Ginny had grabbed my wrists with unhuman strength for such a small girl and pulled me under her as she sat on me and cackled like a witch.  
  
And that was the start of the mud-wrestling match of the century, between Princess Virginia and the Evil Bunny.  
  
*  
  
Later that day, Gran and I walked home under a huge marroon umbrella with a duck's head carved at the end. I had hoped that Gran would be tipsy, but her liver seemed to have developed an immunity to Mrs. Garrett's "best in the West!" cider. The second she had found me at the fair, she gave me her best displeased glare, eyes scanning my muddy, soaked clothes. Then she had grabbed my arm, linked it through hers and proceeded to march me out of there.  
  
"What do you think you look like, Neville? Honestly, I thought you were such a sensible boy." So did I, Gran, so did I.  
  
"We try our hardest with you, bring you up to be a conscientious and well- behaved boy and you decide to show me up in this unspeakable manner!" Gran knew that the guilt trip, more than anything else in the world, made me feel like crap.  
  
"You made us so proud with your exam results." God.. Gran was so good at this. It wasn't what she was saying, but the implication of "your parents would have been proud of you" that cut so deep.  
  
"We thought that from then on we could start treating you like an adult. But,", she breathed heavily through her nose, looking down it at me. "I can see we were wrong."  
  
Does she know.... Does Gran know about me and Mrs. Weasley?  
  
"I saw you, you know." She... saw me?! Oh holy shite. She saw me doing unspeakable things with Mrs. Weasley, a very good friend of hers, a middle- aged woman- a married woman with seven children and.. she saw me! My life, my very sad little life as I knew it was over. I would be kicked out of the house and would have to turn to the streets. I would become a toothless bag of bones with no wordly posessions and a sad tale of a wanton red-haired mistress. How would I make money? I couldn't busk- the only thing I could play was the recorder and then the only tune I knew was "London's burning". Maybe I could shine shoes or-  
  
Gran cleared her throat, bringing me stumbling back to reality.  
  
"With that Ginny Weasley." Ginny....? Ginny! Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. That was nothing to get me kicked out of the house for. I could go home and put away my recorder, seeing us mud-wrestling wasn't anywhere near as bad.  
  
I got an earful about behaving like a child in public, did I have no dignity, what must her mother have thought. But it didn't matter. My secret was safe for the time being.  
  
And I, Neville Longbottom, had mud-wrestled with Ginny Weasley. 


	5. Scones and Sweet Seduction

I may not be brain of Britain. I may not be breath-takingly, heart- stoppingly, seat-wettingly gorgeous to look at. But if there's one thing I am, then it's green-fingered.  
  
The plants are my children. I nurture them, I talk to them, I love them. I spend more time with my babies than I do with real people, which, admittedly, is a bit scary. But Gran says we all have our weaknesses, and surely plants are a better weakness than booze, rampant sex or naughty illegal substances.  
  
I stood in the abandoned greenhouse, sunlight streaming through the transparent roof in hazy stripes. The tomato plants curled round their cane in exotic vines, their sumptuous crimson fruit hanging enticingly from them, begging to be eaten. Pots of geraniums lit up the place with their sunny pinks and gave the air that intensely satisfying all-natural aroma. I stroked their hairy leaves, like velvet under my stubby and blistered fingers. I lovingly lifted the leaves, giving them a little water.  
  
"Yes, Daddy loves you," I crooned to them. I often found myself singing to them, giving a full performance. Their favourite was a song about somebody called Mrs. Robinson I had heard once on a muggle radio station.  
  
"And this afternoon, live from your greenhouse," I began in my best announcer's voice. "NEEVILLEE LON-". I wheeled round to see Gran standing at the door with a bemused look on her face.  
  
"Er, hello, Gran, I was just-"  
  
"Yes." She nodded, thankfully not interested. "Brush your hair, Neville, we're going out."  
  
I half-heartedly ran a hand through my hair. "Where?"  
  
"The Weasleys- for tea. Come on, now."  
  
Before there was any time for protest, she had taken my arm and frogmarched me up the garden path. Goodbye, my babies, I thought morosely, not wanting to leave them on their own. As I walked up the path and through the narrow lanes to The Burrow, the funeral march played repeatedly in my head as I thought of one particular flame haired temptress.  
  
*  
  
I stared down into the chipped, sunny yellow teacup, watching the ripples my breath made in the tea. It was the only thing I could do to stop myself from looking up, from recognising the same rose pink walls, the same scruffy armchairs and the same Mrs. Weasley I had seen that night.  
  
It was driving me mad. On one side was Ginny, the mud wrestling princess. Across from me was the scarlet woman, her chair currently empty. And on my other side was Gran, a nasty little reminder of my absent conscience, my slipped halo and scuffed wings.  
  
"Here they are!" Mrs. Weasley sung gaily, rejoining us. She was carrying a box that was stuffed to the brim with photographs. I caught a glimpse of Ginny, who groaned and rolled her eyes at the sight of them.  
  
I watched photograph after photograph flip past each other, various red heads moving in and out of pictures in a blur. I looked around the table, unaware that my sleeve was in the butter. It was then that I noticed the absence of Mr. Weasley, and felt my face deepen into a vermilion blush.  
  
Mrs. Weasley gave a running commentary over the photographs, her eyes shining with beautiful memories. Every part of her body spoke with unconditional love, with motherly fondness. I was shamefully jealous- why couldn't I have a mother who loved me like that? Why couldn't anyone love me like that? I moodily removed my sleeve from the butter, wiping my sleeve surreptitiously on the blue gingham tablecloth.  
  
Wait.  
  
Was that......?  
  
Oh God, oh God, what do I do, what do I do? As Mrs. Weasley spoke so lovingly of her family, her foot ran itself up my leg, stopping at... No! My knee jerked in shock and it bashed hard into the table, making me swear out loud in pain and frustration. Two pairs of eyes blinked in bemusement, one pair shone, burning through my soul, and one pair glared at me in disgust.  
  
"Sorry, sorry..". I muttered, breaking into a sheepish grin. "Got to get some fresh air."  
  
The relief of leaving that table was immense. As I stepped out of the back door, the warm air washed over me. I sighed, fumbling in my pocket for my keys. I wasn't surprised to find that I had forgotten them, to me, forgetting was an art and I was a connoisseur in it. But there was something in my pocket that rustled. I drew it out, confused. It was a piece of parchment, yellowed at the edges and scented faintly of cinnamon. With trembling hands, I turned it over to find scrawled in red ink:  
  
Neville. Come and see me tonight. The house will be empty.  
  
Aaaaargh!! Jumbled words flew through my head, words which made no sense at all. I said no, didn't Mrs. Weasley understand, didn't she care at all, no, no, no no no, no, no!  
  
"Hiya, Nev."  
  
I actually jumped at the sound. Then I turned around to face the source of the voice, trying to appear normal. Silly Neville, normal is something you will never be, I thought as I tried to force my mouth into a smile.  
  
Ginny smiled, her perfect red lips amongst creamy skin like roses in the snow. I didn't understand how she, a saint, could be sprung of a scarlet woman. I must have been staring at her because she blushed a little and dropped her eyes to the ground.  
  
"I brought you a scone. You didn't eat anything." She put on her mother's voice, unaware of the bizarre effect it had on me, the pictures it put in my head. "You'll waste away, Neville Longbottom."  
  
I mumbled something about not wanting a scone, thank you, and that I was just heading home to feed the cat.  
  
Only I didn't have a cat, did I?  
  
"Eat the scone, Evil. I made them this morning, especially for you." She batted her eyelashes, almost giving me a coronary.  
  
But I mustn't take the scone. Taking the scone is like giving in to Mrs. Weasley. I can resist temptation. I can!  
  
"No thanks, Gin."  
  
Oblivious to my answer, Ginny stuffed the scone into my mouth. I spluttered and choked as she laughed her bizarre cackle. The scone was perfection, the fruit sweet and plump, the dough buttery and crumbling in my mouth.  
  
"Mmmphanks, Gin. Ffewy nysshe."  
  
She laughed more and more. My mind kept flooding back to Mrs. Weasley, to her games and desires. What did somebody so devoted to their family want with a chubby, useless teenager? And what did I want from her? Tonight, I thought, hand closing around the parchment in my pocket, I would find out.  
  
"Well, I've fed you. Now you can go home and feed the cat." Ginny smiled, squeezed my ribs and went back to the house. When she walked, her hair flew out behind her like a floating blaze. Her beauty hurt me.  
  
"I don't have a cat," I called after her, left standing alone on the long, cobbled path. 


	6. Treacle filled lead balloons

I had left The Burrow just four hours ago and was now returning, clad from head to toe in black. In my pocket rustled the piece of parchment Mrs. Weasley had somehow managed to slip to me. With each step a new question ran through my head with the rhythmic squeak of my battered trainers.  
  
"What exactly do you want from me, Mrs Weasley?"  
  
Rustle, skip, squeak!  
  
"Don't you think this is awfully wrong?"  
  
Squeak!  
  
"This can't really be what you want, can it?"  
  
Squeak-skip, squeak!  
  
Let's just hope that for once I was articulate enough to say what I wanted without turning into a gibbering wreck.  
  
Soon The Burrow came into view, its shambolic turrets rising above the severely overgrown hedge. I sidled up to the door, repeating my confidence mantra "I, Neville Longbottom, am a man of purpose.". On the doorstep were two pairs of wellies, one small and red with a sheepskin lining and one large, green and very muddy. With a trembling hand I knocked on the lion's head door-knocker, waiting for her to appear.  
  
"I, Neville Longbottom, am a man of purpose. I, Neville Longbottom, am a man of purpose, I, Neville Longbottom, are a man of-"  
  
The door swung open. Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway, a coy smile curling her scarlet lips. If I had looked beyond it, I'd have seen the eyes which didn't match that smile.  
  
"You came after all. Well, come in, don't want you turning into an icicle, now do we?" A false laugh escaped her, and she struggled to restrain it. I was reminded of Ginny's curious cackle.  
  
Ducking my head so as not to bash it on the low wooden door frame, I followed her inside. In the glowing light emanating from junky antique art- deco lamps, I saw her to be wearing a long, raspberry coloured satin slip. The outline of her voluptuous body was crystal clear through it, so clear that I had to avert my young, innocent eyes before talking.  
  
"What..... er...".  
  
She looked at me from under brown, spiky lashes. Her kind eyes were lined delicately at the edges, revealing her age.  
  
"What exactly do you..".  
  
She now leaned in closer, her curled red hair almost touching my face. The cinnamon scent tickled my nose and awakened unwanted senses in me. Please, Mrs. Weasley, leave me alone. It's wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong-etty wrong.  
  
"What exactly do you want from me?" I squawked, sounding like I was trapped in a large helium balloon. The question, of course, was not a smart move. She took my hand in hers and leant in even closer, so that her hair fell on to my neck. She whispered something incoherent, and undoubtedly indecent and started to lead me up the stairs to that dark cavern of brown paisley and cracked windows.  
  
I will still say no, of course. There is no way I, Neville Longbottom, will be ending up in that bed tonight.  
  
She sat me down on the bed, grabbing the front of my jumper and pulling me into a deep kiss. I tore her hand away worriedly. Gran would not be happy if she ripped it, it was a nice new one from Marks and Spencer's after all. I tried to move, but there was something suffocating and restricting about her kisses that forbade me to resist, however much my mind screamed it.  
  
"Mrs. Weasley!" I gasped as she pulled away. "Stop this! For both our sakes!"  
  
Caught up in my own passion, I stood up, pointing at her with a shaky finger.  
  
"Stop this, or I'll have you charged- and don't think I won't, Mrs. Weasley- I'll have you charged for rape!"  
  
The words hung heavily in the air, like a treacle filled lead balloon. Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed in her doll-like face, mouth scrunched tight together.  
  
"You little bastard.." Her voice was no more than a venomous whisper, a sharp blade to my soul . Her eyes burned with rage, turning to black holes in her face as she stood to face me. I trembled, resisting all urges to back away. I, Neville Longbottom, was a man of... purpose?  
  
"It took the two of us," Mrs. Weasley hissed. She raised her hand as if to slap my face, and I noticed that she too was shaking. "You could have said no."  
  
I was about to tell her that I had said no, and rather clearly too when I raised my eyes to her hand shivering and jumping just inches from my face. Her nails were painted in bright cherry red, a shocking clash with her pale skin. Her other hand balled into a trembling fist, the knuckles white as her nails digged into the palm.  
  
"I.. er.. you.. we... yesss." Goodbye, vocublary. I stumbled on my words, shuffling my feet on the Persian rug. I dug my toe into a red-wine stain in the shape of a heart.  
  
Her hand did not move, and neither did her heated glare. I was at completely at a loss. I didn't have much, but when confronted what little courage I had ran away with its tail between its legs.  
  
"Fine. Go to the police if you want. But who do you think they'll believe, you or me? You won't even be able to speak to them. And it all looks a bit suspicious, doesn't it, a happily married family woman on the one hand. What's on the other, Neville? A boy they've been expecting to turn bad for years. They're just waiting for you to turn out like your mum and dad."  
  
A slow, liquid silence befell us. Her pupils dilated with the horror of what she had just said, but I sensed that she would not be the type to apologise. It was all true, anyway. Sometimes I wondered just when I would start running amok with a kitchen knife, screaming the Dark Lord's name.  
  
I stared at the green and cream striped wallpaper until the stripes blurred and merged into one grey block. I did not notice that she had moved her hand or that the fire had died in her eyes. The back of her hand brushed my cheek in a motherly gesture, the way I wanted to be loved and touched.  
  
"Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry." Was I? Why did I say that, when it was her who ought to be apologising? It wasn't like me to be gentlemanly, and I knew really that the gesture was one of cowardice. She had won again, and that she knew.  
  
Ron had tried to teach me wizard chess throughout our seven years at school together. I would sit there, staring vacantly across the board as he, with his blazing hair and narrowed eyes won every game. I was subjected to grim defeat, the screaming of the pawns in my ears as they fell one by one to Weasley.  
  
"Never be sorry." Mrs. Weasley told me, and brought the hand that had so nearly assaulted me softly to my shoulder.  
  
I did not go home that night. 


	7. An offer from the rat princess

I became very acquainted with the brown paisley quilt. It wasn't long before knew every crack in the ceiling, every stripe on the wall, each line in her face. Summer soon turned to Autumn, and then Winter, and nothing had changed.  
  
Friday nights were our night, safe in the knowledge that the heavenly Virginia and the somewhat less desirable Ronald would not discover us. I had never questioned where Mr. Weasley was, and didn't plan to speak his name. To do that would be to admit our sins, that yes, she was a married woman. And I tried to keep that shoved at the back of my mind in the overstuffed box marked "DENIAL".  
  
When I was alone, I would take my clothes and inhale the sweet cinnamon scent that Mrs. Weasley left on them. It sounds vomit-inducingly sentimental, but it wasn't like that- not really. I wasn't in love with Mrs. Weasley. When I smelt that scent I recognised all her goodness and kindness. The scent of a mother.  
  
At the very bottom of my denial box was a thought I really didn't want to have, because I knew it was the truth. What I wanted in Mrs. Weasley was not a lover, or a friend, but a mother.  
  
Sigmund Freud would have loved me.  
  
*  
  
"What do you think about, lover?"  
  
I fumbled with the edge of the nasty quilt. She stroked my arm gently and posessively as she spoke. What did I think about? Far too much. Far, far too much.  
  
"Lots of stuff. Nothing as deep as politics and literature and art and that, though. Things like what to eat for breakfast or how nice Gran's hair looks." I shrugged and blew a lock of hair out of my eyes. "Bit boring, really."  
  
She gave me her warmest smile, crossing the room in the old cord slippers. She sat down at the rickety pine table and began to comb her hair. It tumbled on to her shoulders, a wave of cinnamon and flames.  
  
"You're such a blessing, Neville." Her eyes, in the mirror caught mine sending her insatiable heat waving through my body.  
  
"Such a blessing."  
  
*  
  
It was only when I left her next morning that I thought about the blessing comment. It had flattered me at the time, compliments were always thin on the ground for me after all. It was nice to think of myself as a blessing, as someone who was sent to make Mrs. Weasley's life better. Yes! I had a purpose, and that purpose was to bless Mrs. Weasley! I, Neville Longbottom had a purpose!  
  
Coming back down to Earth wasn't so nice. I remembered my comment before that, "what to eat for breakfast or how nice Gran's hair looks" with disgust. I always had the same breakfast- cornflakes with sugar and a cup of tea, and Gran's hair never looked nice because she always hid it under a hat. And the fact was, the comment made me look like a mindless prat. That's why I was her blessing- because I was mind-numbingly thick. That made me easily led, agreeable and always so lovely. Super toyboy material.  
  
You plank, Longbottom. You're not her angel but her idiot!  
  
I padded into the kitchen, wearing an oversized pair of socks that belonged to Mr. Weasley. Rather bizarrely, they were striped with violet and mustard yellow.  
  
As usual, there was a note on the fridge. Today's was no dissapointment, Gran had written it in pink ink for me. I tilted my head to one side and began to read.  
  
1 pint milk Potatoes Scoop bats' bladders Copy of Hell magazine-  
  
No, Gran was not an avid reader of goings-on in the Underworld. It was a classic Longbottom spelling mistake. I made a mental note to change it to "Hello" later.  
  
Packet of-  
  
Only I never did get to find out what the packet contained. Because there, on my doorstep, stood the one and only Ginny in all her glory. My mud- wrestling, beautiful, rat princess. I ran to the door, skidding along the parquet floor in the furiously coloured socks and crashing into the doorframe. I opened the door cautiously, and her beauty hit me in a blaze of scarlet glory.  
  
"Ginny, Gin, Virginia, come in!" I gabbled. Sometimes, instead of being tongue-tied around Ginny I fell into manic mode. This was ultimately worse than my awed silence, as it meant that I babbled incessantly, chuckled often and stared constantly.  
  
She followed me through to the kitchen, where I busied myself with the teapot. She sat at the table and rubbed her hands together to warm them. When she blew on them, I couldn't help noticing the perfect pout her cupid's bow mouth made. As a result, my concentration failed me and had it not been for her, I would have poured scalding hot water over my hand.  
  
"Th- Thanks, Gin. Really, could've been quite nasty, that." I said cheerily as I set a cup in front of her and joined her at the table.  
  
"What brings you to number 7 on this fine afternoon?" Ugh. I ran the sentence over in my head and cringed  
  
"Something Mum wants," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. If only you knew, my sweet Virginia, I thought with a pang.  
  
"Oh yes? Well, I would be most honoured to oblige." Ugh, ugh, ugh. Someone really should tear out my voicebox one day. For everybody's sake.  
  
"I doubt it, Nev. She's invited you and your gran to have Christmas lunch with us. Get out of it while you can." A conspiratorial grin graced her face, one identical to her mother's when she had said "it'll be our little secret.".  
  
"I'll help you think of an excuse, if you like."  
  
Truthfully, I wanted to jump at her offer. I didn't know if I could face Mrs. Weasley's coy smiles and secret gestures around all her loved ones. And beyond that, Ginny would be there, and I simply could not contain myself in her presence.  
  
But this wasn't just about me, it was about Gran. Ever since I had been in her care, we hadn't thought to celebrate Christmas. We would usually spend Christmas Day in bed, or on Gran's part, dead drunk Although she would die before admitting it, the truth was, I depressed Gran. And Gran didn't deserve to be depressed, she deserved presents and trees and the chance to enjoy herself for once.  
  
Realising that my eyes had glazed over, I turned back to Ginny with smile to rival all fixed grins.  
  
"No, no, we'd love to come, be happy to. Gran- she'd like it a lot. It'd mean a lot to her- and me, of course. Yes, we'd like to come."  
  
Ginny nodded slowly, as if I was speaking Hungarian.  
  
"That's... great, Nev. Mum'll be thrilled to bits. Ah, yes, and you can bring your 'significant other'." She nudged me, with a suggestive grin. I crumbled at the touch, almost sliding out of my chair.  
  
"Will.. you be bringing one, er, Virginia?" I wheezed, taking a long sip of tea to shut myself up.  
  
"Not in so many words. Actually, I had a little bit of an ulterior motive in coming here."  
  
I blinked, starimg at her pale, elegamt hamds curled around her mug. "Oh yes?"  
  
"Yeah. You see, everybody's got.. well, someone apart from me." She laughed to herself. "This is really sad. You're allowed to laugh and tell me I'm being pathetic. It's just.. everyone will go on at me about why I'm single and they'll be unbearable. You know what Ron-and-Hermione are like." I most certainly did. They were sweet, but the epitomy of a smug couple- so often seen together that their names had become hyphenated.  
  
"And, I was wondering- well, hoping that-" What scared me the most was that I was seeing myself in Ginny. She seemed to have a discomfort and confidence which mirrored mine. And that was when I started to wonder..  
  
"Would you... I can't believe I'm doing this- sorry Nev. Would you, by any chance, pretend to be going out with me for Christmas lunch?" She quickly averted her eyes and stared down at the table in deep concentration.  
  
My heart skipped a beat. I wanted to get up and dance around the kitchen whilst singing the alleluia chorus, but being a Longbottom, I had a sane reputation to fulfil. I gently touched her hand and gave what I only hoped could be a warm smile.  
  
"Ginny, I'd love to. Especially if it makes Ron-and-Hermione more bearable." I made a face and she laughed.  
  
"Ohh, thank you so much, Neville. I'll make it up to you, I swear." At this, I almost swooned to the ground. She kissed my cheek and gave me a shattering, megawatt grin.  
  
"Well, must be off. And, Nev?" She asked, pulling her coat on.  
  
"Yessss?" I murmured, completely entranced by her. She paused for a second, just looking at me. Unlike Mrs. Weasley's gaze, it did not burn through me but bathe me in a cosy warmth. It was all I could do to stand there grinning wildly.  
  
"I.... No, it doesn't matter. I'll see you next Sunday, then! Thanks again."  
  
With that, she was gone. I knew that I, Neville P. Longbottom would be having a very interesting Christmas. 


	8. Christmas Tree

The outside of The Burrow had been enchanted with floating candles. Through the mist of a country fog, they shimmered and danced from miles down the lane. As I stepped up the path with Gran on my arm, we noticed that the gnomes had been taught to sing. I was fairly impressed by their clumsy rendition of "Jungle Bells", but beside me, Gran tutted. "There is no place for frivolity in this world," was one of her favourite phrases and strongest beliefs.  
  
We continued to walk up the path, past the chicken coop. I didn't like the chickens. They had a knowing, dissaproving look in their beady eyes every time I passed them. Strange as it may seem, their clucking turned to "Wrong, wrong" in my ears as I hurried past. They knew about me and Mrs. W.  
  
The door was decorated with a large wreath. Hesitantly, I put a fist to it, waiting for Gran's signal.  
  
"Well, knock then, Neville."  
  
I nodded and knocked once, twice. The door opened and we were hit by a wave of warmth and a comforting scent of brandy and cinnamon. About two dozen redheads stood in the hallway, all holding glasses of mulled mead. I scanned them for Ginny, leaving Gran with an ageing Weasley wearing a plum kilt rather bizarrely over a pair of corduroy trousers.  
  
"NEVILLE!" Ginny raised her head from the crowd, wearing what was unmistakeably a Weasley original. Only she could have pulled off that bile green and salmon creation. I elbowed my way through the Weasley clan, finally getting to her side.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Gin." Taking full advantage of the boyfriend-for-a-day situation, I kissed her cheek. I vowed to remember the sensation for as long as I lived as warm shivers ran down my spine.  
  
"Well, well!" A voice rung through the crowd. With its flat vowels and slight growl, I immediately recognised it to be Ron's. I glanced over at Ginny to see that she was wearing the exact same expression as me- nervous apprehension.  
  
"Neville, mate!" Ron took my podgy hand in his large one, almost crushing it with his vice-like grip. "Well, you and Ginny, eh? Who'd've thought it?"  
  
Ginny and I wore identical, fixed 60 Watt grins- her looking dazzling, me looking positively terrifying. I often caught my smile in a mirror and vowed never to smile again. I just had too many teeth.  
  
"What's this?" This time, it was the clear voice of Hermione. Beside me, I felt Ginny cringe at the thought of the terrible two.  
  
"Grab a sick bag," Ginny muttered through the side of her mouth to me as Hermione bustled through to Ron's side. They both beamed at us with identical, saccharine smiles saying "wouldn't you love to be as happy as we are?"  
  
I couldn't help but long for the days when Ron and Hermione would have blazing rows in the Common Room, or the days when Ron-and-Hermione-weren't- speaking. They were a classic example of the love-hate relationship, no more than a sickly plot for a romantic comedy. I loved Ron and I loved Hermione, but I couldn't seem to get to grips with Ron-and-Hermione.  
  
After much affectionate shoulder-punching from Ron and cooing from Hermione, we finally managed to make our getaway. As Ginny led me towards the kitchen, I couldn't help but stare at the ever-growing Weasley contigent. Where exactly where we all going to placed for lunch, anyway? I caught a quick glance at Gran, who was rapt in conversation with Mr. Kilt- Trousers. Good, I thought, as Ginny shut the kitchen door behind us.  
  
"I am so sorry about that," Ginny began, stirring the gravy absent-mindedly with her wand. A strand of hair fell out of her plait and tumbled down her forehead. My mouth fell open in awe of her, and to my surprise and great annoyance, I couldn't seem to shut it.  
  
"No no, it's fine." I forced the words out. Each one felt like a brick that I couldn't get my tongue around. "I'm having a good time and Gran certainly is." How could I not have a good time, being in her divine presence for a whole day?  
  
She just smiled, although somewhat weakly. "Hey, we haven't had any alcohol yet, have we? Can't have Christmas without getting absolutely bladdered." Ginny ducked down and opened a cupboard.  
  
I, of course, did not look at her bottom.  
  
*  
  
To fit in the large mass of people, Christmas lunch was served outside. To any Muggle, having a meal outside in the middle of December is about as mad as gets. However, luckily for us, there were those who could conjure heat and warmth in one word.  
  
There were six long tables laid out on the lawn, each with a hand- embroidered tablecloth. Ours was old and stained, or as some might say, well loved. Each place was laid with a snowman napkin, a nametag and even a cracker! I felt a huge rush of excitement, inner child jumping up and down madly.  
  
So far, Mrs. Weasley and I had managed to stay out of each other's way. In fact, I hadn't seen her at all. Our table was laid for the "young 'uns", which, unfortunately for us meant Ron-and-Hermione.  
  
"Hello there, Neville!" I looked up to see Mr. Weasley standing inches away from me wielding a large knife. I panicked.  
  
Oh God.. Oh God. He knows. He doesn't want to share his wife. He's going to cut me up into little pieces, put me in a brown paper envelope and hand it to Mrs. Weasley with an evil smile! It's the end for me- I had given my life for a month of sweet seduction and now I was paying the price! How could Gran possibly pay for a funeral? Trust me to ruin her Christmas by getting myself bludgeoned. Oh God.. Goodbye, sweet Virginia.. I go to a better place..  
  
Mr. Weasley shook my shoulder good-naturedly.  
  
"What are you gawping at, lad? Are you going to get this turkey carved or what?"  
  
I made a gurgling noise and smiled weakly at him. A tomato blush was creeping around my ears faster than I could say "Longbottom is a thick prat". I took the knife from him and started to carve, ignoring the heavy sense of guilt welling up in my stomach.  
  
* We watched Hermione gush, staring at the ring like it was her first born child. Harry smiled falsely, looking a bit nauseous. Ginny turned to face me, looking radiant in her Napoleon-esque tricorner hat from her cracker.  
  
"I think that's my sugar fix for the day. Let's get out of here before she asks me to be a bridesmaid!" I nodded, grimacing as Hermione started to hum the wedding march.  
  
I should explain that although Ron and Hermione were sickeningly sweet together, we were very happy for them. Single people will inevitably make negative comments, though secretly we'd all like a go at being another Ron- and-Hermione.  
  
Ginny led me up those threadbare stairs to her room. I took in every detail, imprinting the look on her face in my mind. I hoped she would stay in my mind forever.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Nev." She said, handing me a miniature tree in a blue ceramic pot.  
  
I was utterly gobsmacked. A present? For.. for me? I'd never had a proper present- especially not one so thoughtful. I could feel tears welling in my eyes- it was a beautiful present from a woman of unearthly beauty. And for little, insignificant me!  
  
"Read the label." Ginny's eyes sparkled happily. I gave her a watery smile and turned over the label.  
  
THE TREE OF NEVILLE.  
  
A tree! With my name! I gasped, and the tears started to escape. I never had been able to control my emotions- something I had found women rather liked, really.  
  
"I'm a... I'm a tree!" I cried in glee. "Ginny, Ginny, it's beautiful, wonderful, bestpresenti'veeverhadthankyousomuch!"  
  
"Careful," she said playfully, wiping at my tears with the edge of her woolly sleeve. "You're sounding like Hermione."  
  
Then she squeezed my hand and left the room, giving me the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I was left star-struck, sitting on her bed. Not only was she a divine creature, but she cared enough about me to find me something really special..  
  
I was head over heels for the girl. And I was really starting to love Christmas.  
  
"Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?"  
  
I looked up to see a radiant Mrs. Weasley standing in the doorway, resplendent in pale pink. She wore a curious smile, one brow arched in question as to why I was sitting on her daughter's bed alone.  
  
"Oh, yes," I gave her a thin smile, not really wanting to make eye contact. "Lovely. Best Christmas we've ever had." Not here. Please. Not now. How could I distract her..? What would Gran do, I wondered. And I had it in a second. The classic guilt trip! I would play the husband card.  
  
"I noticed, er, Mr. Weasley is back." Mrs. Weasley sat down next to me. I scooted away from her a little, aware of the lightning bolts jumping between us.  
  
"Yes, he is. Poor old thing- he's been in Egypt all year and he's had to come back to this rotten weather!" Her false laugh returned, only some decibels higher as a consequence of Christmas drinking. Her curly hair was up, a halo of flames. Like an angel from hell, I mused to myself.  
  
"So," Mrs. Weasley continued, in what might have been a confident tone but was given away by a dullness in her eyes. "You and Ginny! How lovely."  
  
"Yes." I said. The atmosphere between us was highly tense, like we were sitting on the edge of a dangling bough overlooking the sea. I scuttled yet further away, now squashed against the headboard in a quite undignified fashion. Mrs. Weasley seemed to sense it too, as she sat very upright with her hands clasped in her lap. Her wedding ring flashed angrily in my face.  
  
"Neville.." She began, eyeing the tree through a sidelong glance. "Now you're with Ginny, I suppose-"  
  
My heart jumped. I had never been more grateful. She was going to end it- to set me free. I could spread my wings and fly. No more guilt, no more troubke. She must have come to her senses when Mr. Weasley returned for Christmas, bless her.  
  
"Well, it's the right thing to do," I said shakily, trying to restrain the waves of joy and impending freedom from showing. Mrs. Weasley looked at me in another sidelong glance, as though taking in what I had said. She had been cool before, but now red heat flowed from her to me, holding me down.  
  
"I don't necessarily do what's right." She broke into a grin, looking at me through hooded eyes. It suddenly occured to me that my anxious scuttling had left me in an awkward place from which I could not escape. Not now, I pleaded silently. Please, Mrs. Weasley, you're a good woman with a husband waiting for you downstairs. A husband! Husband, husband, husb-  
  
And her mouth was on mine in a suffocating, boiling kiss. It was a kiss to mark me, to put a collar on me labelling me hers alone. Her hands clawed at me desperately as I made my best effort to get away. I had to pull away- to stop this now. I grabbed her forearms, ready to push her away.  
  
But I didn't need to.  
  
Because in the doorway stood Ronald Weasley, his white face a mad contrast to his flame hair. 


	9. A whirl of colours

There was no time to panic. Within seconds, I had wrenched myself from Mrs. Weasley's grasp and torn out of the room after Ron. Mrs. Weasley's voice buzzed in and out of my ears in broken sentences, "no.... Neville... don't follow.... just go.." but I was deaf to the meaning of the words. Finally, her voice distilled into silence and I followed the blurred outline of Ron.  
  
As I ran, it occurred to me that I had no idea what I was going to say or do to Ron. I just knew I needed to talk to him- even if it meant I had to run forever. Which, come to think of it wasn't a fantastic idea for a chubby teenager with asthma and no inhaler.  
  
My breathing turned to an ominous wheeze, and my feet dragged along the ground like feathers in molasses. However, if Ron wasn't planning on stopping, then neither was I. The effort of running was sending stabbing pains and constrictions to my chest that I wanted to ignore in a heroic manner, but made my head spin so much I had to kneel down on the tatty rose patterned carpet. Little blue shapes started to swim in front of my eyes and threatened blackout. Forcing deep breaths into my lungs, I looked up to see Ron stopped dead on the landing, staring at me with the same horrified expression.  
  
"I'm..... OK.." I wheezed, trying to bring Ron into focus from the fuzzy red blob that stood before me. "Are.. you... er..?" A coughing fit followed, in which I had to bang my chest very hard. I almost knocked myself out with my own wrath, not that unconsciousness would be unwelcome at a time like this..  
  
Ron's chest heaved, and stupidly I wondered if he was an asthmatic too. He was ashen faced but his eyes burned with such rage they were almost black. In my cowardice, I wondered if he would have the nerve to hit a man who was already down.  
  
"What," he began through his teeth, breath coming fast. "was that?"  
  
I took in shallow breaths, and his face started to swim into focus. If only I'd been given the gift to lie constructively.. But then, it couldn't have been anything else. It had very obviously been a kiss- and I could hardly tell him that his own mother had wantonly launched herself on poor, unsuspecting moi.  
  
"Neville, what was THAT?!! WHAT? WHAT?" A furious blush started to rise in his cheeks as the crushing pain in my chest started to forbid breathing. "You! You! YOU AND MY MUM?! You...."  
  
Good God, the boy could rant. I could only catch certain words, trying my best not to die as it were. I closed my eyes and summoned a deep breath. It shuddered and ripped my chest with searing pain. But it was breath to say the least.  
  
".. She's MARRIED! She's... she's my BLOODY MUM, Neville. What the bloody hell were you doing snogging my MOTHER??!"  
  
Tell the world, Ron. Shout a little louder, I don't think they quite heard you in Timbuktu.  
  
He looked around furtively, then pulled me into what must have been an airing cupboard. It was tiny, stuffy and smelt horribly musty. Not too good for the old asthma, but I was beyond caring.  
  
"What did you do to her? Got her drunk, did you? I know your type, Neville Longbottom, oh, I know you." I took a hesitant look at his face. He was standing very upright- well, as upright as you can stand when you're 6"4 in a cupboard- with a trembling finger pointed in my face. Which might have been effectively threatening had it not been for the pink tiara from his cracker nestling in his hair and the fact that he'd had one two many brandies.  
  
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BLOODY MOTHER?!"  
  
I cleared my throat to find my voice weedy and shaky. Not even slightly manly or brave.  
  
"Ron.. I'm so sorry. I was very.. very drunk. Yes.. Drunk." I added a slight slur to my words for extra drunken effect hopefully.  
  
"You sick bastard.." Ron hissed in a venomous whisper. Rather like his mother had done when angered. "So drunk you thought it was acceptable to take a poor, unsuspecting woman- MY MOTHER!- and snog her face off?! Do you get kicks out of that?"  
  
Now I saw what Mrs. Weasley had meant. Everyone would see it as my fault- not her. To everybody else she was an angel. And I had always been slightly creepy- strangely quiet and undeveloped.  
  
"What about Ginny? You're her boyfriend and you... you cheat on her with.. with her MOTHER! That's.. that's disgusting, Neville, really, really..." he searched for a word in his drunken state and failed, waving a floppy hand dismissively, "disgusting."  
  
I was so tempted to tell Ron the truth. It was getting hard to keep in these days. But how, exactly, could I explain to him that his mother had drawn me in- that she was the seducer? It was all far too complicated for me, for him- for anybody.. So I just stood and took more rant, waiting for Ron's fire to burn out and wheezing occasionally.  
  
"How.. even... How could you?" Ron's glare suddenly softened and his voice dropped a few decibels.  
  
"How could you, Neville?"  
  
His tone of grave disappointment hit me far harder than his anger had. It seemed to underline my betrayal, and that hurt more than fifty-six asthma attacks.  
  
"Mum belongs with Dad...She loves him." Ron's eyes burned again, but this time it was with hurt. I took in small, shallow breaths and hung my head in shame. "He's downstairs, Neville! Why would you do this?"  
  
I concentrated on the floor and said nothing. Ron passed a hand over his eyes and threw off the tiara, swearing in frustration. It hit the floor with a sharp clang that made me jump.  
  
A large silence followed, rife with Ron's disgust and my shame. How could I have been so stupid? Did we really think we'd never be caught? This just proved that yes, I, Neville Longbottom was a failure on all parts. And I say that without any angst or self-pity. It was just the truth, really.  
  
"How long?"  
  
I raised my head to see Ron staring straight at me. His eyes shone in the dark of the cupboard with peculiar red flecks, making him appear a man possessed. Which, come to think of it, he had every right to be.  
  
"How long has this been going on? Neville, I'm not stupid. Tell me."  
  
I suddenly thought of the chess board. Ron was in check, and I could make no move for freedom. It was tell-the-truth time. Ron would most likely explode in a fit of rage and pull my head off with his bare hands, but at least he could look back on my life and say "Ah yes, Longbottom. Bloody pervert but at least he had the balls to tell the truth!" Maybe.. just maybe, he would forgive me. And maybe I was the Dalai Lama.  
  
"Since.." I began, wondering how this would all end. In a way, Ron knowing was a benefit- it now had to stop. However, before any more fateful words left my mouth the room began to spin. Yellow towels, red towels, blue towels all became a blur of merging colours... A vortex about to swallow me up. Ron's voice came slow and thick, and I did not understand the words he spoke. Rushed visions of scarlet women, red hair and Neville trees swirled in my head.  
  
The asthma, alcohol and emotional overload defeated me in one easy blow. The last thing I saw as my head hit the floor was Ron leaving the cupboard, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving me in darkness.  
  
*  
  
The minute I opened my eyes, I knew I had done something very, very bad. I couldn't remember what, but Gran's disapproving glare was invading my thoughts. I rubbed my eyes into focus and realised I was... in a cupboard. An airing cupboard, by the looks of it. Nice fluffy blue towels.  
  
It wasn't my airing cupboard though- I knew that. Because our towels were pink. But then.. whose cupboard was it? I squinted, and an orange towel swam into focus, bearing the crest of the Chudley Canons. Which meant...  
  
Ron?  
  
I was in Ron's cupboard. And what might I have been doing in Ron's airing cupboard, exactly?  
  
I massaged my head and stood up gradually. My knees were so stiff I stood with them bent in a rather unattractive Sumo stance. Strange images were coursing through my mind; turkeys, knives and lime and pink stripes.  
  
Lime and pink stripes, red hair and rosy cheeks  
  
Roaming aged hands and pink lipstick.  
  
A man, ashen faced, with burning eyes.  
  
The recognition hit me harder than a lead bulldozer.  
  
Oh God!  
  
Oh holy shite, I was in trouble. Very big trouble, with a capital T. Ron knew- and let's face it, had probably told the whole Weasley contingent, including Fred Jr. the parrot. Fred Jr. would have squawked it all over the house for anyone who didn't quite catch the scandal and it would be all over the village in no time. Mr. Weasley would grab his trusty axe and go on the rampage for my blood as Mrs. Weasley cried sexual harassment on me. Oh yes, the minute I stepped out of this cupboard my life as I knew it would be over.  
  
On second thoughts, I couldn't stay in this cupboard forever. Sooner or later, a Weasley would require a clean towel and discover a most unwanted inhabitant in the airing cupboard. Besides, it was horribly stuffy in there and there would be no food supply. And I had planned to die in dignity in my bed rather than in much discomfort in an airing cupboard.  
  
On that thought, I shut the door behind me and tried my best to compose myself. I wondered if they all knew at this very moment as they sipped the last of their coffee through pursed lips. Had I just torn a whole family apart because of my inability to say no to a lady's insatiable lust?  
  
Again, without any self-pity, I cursed the insufferable fool that was Neville Longbottom. I shuffled down the stairs with a throbbing pain in my head. In a bizarrely masochistic way, I blessed its presence as a reminder of my wicked ways.  
  
I could hear an off-key piano playing Christmas carols, to which a woman was singing. Her voice was richer than it was tuneful and she sung with Cornwall's telltale lazy tongue. I instantly knew it to be Mrs. Weasley's voice filling the room with cheer, which set a guilty pang in my heart.  
  
The guilt grew and swelled as I entered the room. The pianist was Mr. Weasley, playing with his jovial vigour. Beside him on the stool sat his wife, an arm that had previously held me wrapped around his wiry waist. Oblivious to my adulterous presence, he carried on playing and she continued to sing. The Weasley contingent continued to smile warm, drunken grins.  
  
And in the middle of it all, turned away from the others with his head buried in a book sat Ron. Most unusually, Hermione was sitting next to Gran teaching her 'Silent Night' in German rather than with her other half. As Ron lifted his head, turning it towards the door, I knew I had to leave. I was on dangerous ground now- thin ice, a ring of flames.  
  
On the soaring last note of 'O come all ye faithful', I shut the door of The Burrow behind me. It was bitterly cold, and the thick mist had yet to lift. The candles had burnt down to waxy stumps and shone with a mysterious halo. I stuffed my hands up my sleeves and walks hurriedly up that garden path. The chickens clucked loudly, making my stomach churn with paranoia.  
  
"Neville?"  
  
I ignored the voice and continued walking, just desperate to get away. I could take the next train out of here and leave this scarlet mass of trouble behind. I just had to leave, simple as that.  
  
A hand gripped my shoulder and turned me around. I sucked in my breath as I realised that it was Ginny, holding a shimmering candle in cupped hands. As angsty and pathetic as it seems, it hurt to look at her and know the pain I could cause her.  
  
"Neville.. I should tell you something." Her eyes shone in the candlelight, and instantly I knew what that something would be. It may have lifted my heart at any other time, but now was not the right time for it. And I wasn't sure it would ever be after today's goings-on. I couldn't let her tell me- it would complicate things further. I was just not made to deal with such intricate matters.  
  
So, turning to face Ginny, I put my hands gently on her forearms. In my current state of whirling angst, I had no time to be nervous and was surprisingly confident and coherent.  
  
"Not now, Gin. I've got to go home, I'm afraid. I'll speak to you soon, OK?"  
  
I let her go and walked away, leaving her standing alone on that long garden path. I kept on walking, until she was just a tiny silhouette. Then I saw the silhouette blow out her candle and turn back towards the house.  
  
A sense of heavy guilt and panic lay upon me that I couldn't and didn't want to deal with. So, the minute I got home, I went to my room and sent angsty Neville to bed.  
  
It had to be all right in the morning, after all. 


	10. Fiery Redhead

The messy colours of Christmas ran into Boxing Day, and then New Year. The optimist in me that had concluded that it would all be fine the morning after raised its white flag in surrender, giving way to a new tidal wave of worry for me.  
  
What was I going to do?  
  
For the week that followed Christmas Day, I stayed in my room claiming myself victim to a cold. My solitary confinement gave the illusion that I was giving myself time to do some serious thinking, when in reality, I was staying as far away from the Weasleys as possible.  
  
So, when Gran asked for me to pop round to The Burrow with a dozen mince pies, my cold turned into a contagious bout of influenza. This led me to another week of imprisonment, forcing feeble coughs and surreptitiously warming the thermometer on the radiator.  
  
'Flu, I read, in Doctor Carbuncle's Medical Notes, does not normally last more than a fortnight.  
  
And that left me where I was now, sitting up in bed and flicking through the book for a new medical complaint. If nothing else, the book kept me from dire boredom. I had forgotten that I had few possessions of much interest- a mere bookshelf, a wand and what looked like it might be a festering set of bagpipes. The wallpaper was driving me mad with it's navy fleur de lys pattern that distorted before my eyes after a good minute's staring.  
  
There was a small window, which gave a rather dismal country view. Under a grey sky the fields appeared sludge brown, edged with leafless trees. A farmer trundled along the field, one hand on his flat-cap to protect his head from the sad drizzle. Behind him, even, walked an aged cow, hanging her grey speckled head at her mundane bovine life.  
  
Ugh.  
  
I couldn't stand the boredom of being alone much longer. I took my wand from the small bedside table and turned it over in my hands, wondering... Could a wand change my feelings? Or Mrs. Weasley's? Could I make her forget, or Ron?  
  
And more importantly, could I even remember how to use a wand?  
  
Magic, I was certain, could help me. Yes, memory charms, love potions... It was possible to free myself from the scarlet woman! Nobody would ever remember our affair- not even me! And we would all live happily ever after. Simple as that.  
  
In my excitement, I waved my wand with a delicate flick of the wrist. A shower of magenta stars shot out, a confirmation to me that I could indeed work miracles with it. In a matter of days- hours even!- we would be none the wiser of our sordid cinnamon liaisons. It was brilliant, so brilliant and...... And I had just set the curtains on fire.  
  
Oh God! The curtains were up in flames! It must have been the wand, I thought as I flapped a slipper at the fire in desperation to put it out. Was Gran home? If she was, I would be in trouble of the worst kind. Think, Longbottom, I screeched to myself.. What puts out a fire?  
  
Water!!  
  
I dashed out of the room, skidding on the wooden floor as I went. We had a bucket on the doorstep to collect rainwater- its purpose had never been clear to me. I fumbled with the doorknob frantically, finally managing to wrench it open with my teeth. I reached down for the bucket, when a cold hand grasped my shoulder.  
  
I screamed of course, almost splashing water all over the person in question. I looked up to see rather a disgruntled Ron Weasley holding the Daily Prophet over his head in the rain.  
  
"Er.. Ron.. Can't talk now- fire!" I turned on my heel, certain that the fire had by now burnt down my whole room and half the downstairs loo.  
  
"Couldn't you come up with something better, Longbottom?" Ron stayed on the doorstep, face twisted into an uncharacteristic smirk. I realised that he must have noticed how I was avoiding his family and that a fire did indeed sound like a pathetic excuse.  
  
"No, really!" I flailed my arms, gesturing at the house. "Really, Ron, there's a fire!" He followed me inside and I ran to my room, wielding the bucket.  
  
"Stay back," I told him, "this might be dangerous."  
  
And I opened the door with a deep breath to see........ Nothing. Unless you counted the meagre pile of ashes barely smouldering in the dim light.  
  
"Er... oh." I gave Ron a sheepish smile. His eyes did not meet mine, but he sat down on my bed and cleared his throat.  
  
"Well," he began, taking care not to make eye contact. I wasn't complaining. "Christmas."  
  
Oh marvellous, the very thing and very person I had been trying so hard to avoid. Ron stared straight at me, locking me in his increasingly scary glare.  
  
"Do you love her?"  
  
I blinked.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you love her- my mother?"  
  
Er.... It was my turn to clear my throat. Did I love Mrs. Weasley? Not in a romantic way. Not in the way that would suggest we were infact star crossed lovers. I was fond of her and felt I was doing her a favour. I thought she was beautiful and let's face it, rather sexy. But I was in no way in love with a scarlet woman!  
  
"No...."  
  
I hadn't meant to speak it out loud, and only realised when Ron's blank expression turned to an open mouth. I knew I had almost certainly said the wrong thing.  
  
"God, Neville."  
  
Sorry, Ron, you may have seen me snogging the face off your mother, but don't worry, I'm not in love with her. I'm just using her for the sex. Stupid Neville! What dignity I had swirled its way into the jaws of oblivion and left me speechless and wide eyed.  
  
"What I meant was... me.. your mum- it was the summer and- ahem.."  
  
It was at that moment when Ron almost leapt off my bed, whipping a bottle out of his pocket. He stood before me, eyes glittering and chest heaving rather melodramatically.  
  
"Tell the truth, Neville. Or will I have to make you?"  
  
Perhaps I should have kept the fire going and let it swallow me up.  
  
"Yes.." Ron continued, pacing around the room. In other circumstances, I might have laughed at his performance. It was so deliciously pantomime villain that I wondered if Ron was having me on.  
  
"Veritaserum!" He tapped the bottle with a long finger and gave me a threatening glare. I backed away slightly, trying to control my cowardly tremble.  
  
I did not want the truth potion. It would not be my first encounter with it- when I was six the ministry held an enquiry for the attack on my parents and being the only witness, I was forced to recall the events. I would not take the potion again, but an invisible hand was drawing me to tell Ron the truth anyway. This time I would not pass out, and would leave out no details. There was no need for Veritaserum.  
  
"No, Ron." I held up my hand, palm outstretched to him.  
  
"I'll tell you the truth."  
  
*  
  
As I laid out my soul before Ron's eyes, I started to see the absurdity in it all. Here I was, a chubby, unremarkable boy not yet eighteen drawn into a ridiculous affair with a middle-aged mother of seven. This mother of seven, the lady who made the best cakes in the village, who rescued kittens from trees, who knitted every child in the village a jumper at Christmas; had seduced me against my will, manipulated me and snatched my innocence from under my virgin nose.  
  
The words not, bloody and likely all came to mind.  
  
I told Ron about my love for Ginny- how I thought her a goddess and I a mere mortal. How in a way, being with his mother made me feel like a bigger person, or a person Ginny might have some interest in. I told him about what happened after I woke up in the airing cupboard and how I snubbed his beautiful sister in my state of angst.  
  
And then, I went on to telling Ron about my need for a mother figure. I figured he would think I was a pervert after that, but I had already done a good job by sleeping with the mother of the girl I loved. Somehow, I thought, it might explain my reasons for the affair- a deep psychological need I had to fulfil. Or, if not, it would emphasise to Ron that this was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  
  
Of course, Ron had raised his eyebrows at this.  
  
"You mean you wanted to sleep with your mother?"  
  
Oh shit. I hadn't ever really thought about that. What if I was really, really sick and twisted?  
  
As I mulled that over in my head, I continued my story for Ron. I told him about the notes his mother left me and the sly feet under the table. Of course, I was careful with the wording- I didn't really want to make Ron think his mother was so wanton. So I told him what I knew was a downright lie- that she had not been to blame for this.  
  
"Don't blame her, Ron." I said, with the air of one about to sprout white, feathery wings and start twanging a harp. "She was confused, it happens a lot to women of her age in a stable relationship." Why was it, I wondered, that I had become so fluent when I really ought to shut up? "You know how much your mum loves your dad. She was missing him so much- she just needed a shoulder to cry on, really." Oh yes. This was working. "She began to think she loved me, when really, she was just looking for a substitute for your dad while he was away. She started to get very upset when I told her to stop- poor woman. Must have been her, er, hormones."  
  
I didn't know if Ron was buying this, but I was planning to make full use of my new gift to distort the truth for the good of others.  
  
"I felt sorry for her, Ron. She was so vulnerable- so lost. As you can imagine, I'm pretty used to that feeling." I laughed weakly. Ron said nothing, his expression blank. "She didn't really know what she was doing. And neither did I, Ron. We were two confused people looking for comfort in all the wrong places. I'm sorry it had to turn out like it did."  
  
Finally, the language flowing through me ceased. And I wondered, just maybe if the words had more truth in them than I thought. Ron sat there on my bed for what seemed like ages, face scrunched up into a frown whilst he muttered to himself. This was more like the Ron I knew, the one who always tried to make sense of the truth even if he didn't like it. Finally, he spoke.  
  
"You know what, Neville? I'm going to forget this ever happened. And maybe you should, too."  
  
The wisest words to ever come from a Weasley.  
  
"Break things off with my mum, before it gets any worse."  
  
I nodded dumbly, half wanting to jump up and hug him and half wanting to give myself an Oscar for my fantastic performance. Of course, I did neither, thinking them a little unsuitable for these circumstances.  
  
Then I realised how uncomfortable Ron looked, now standing with his big hands dangling at his side. He didn't seem to want to look at me, or anything for that matter. I would have been grateful a while ago, but what I wanted now was things to go back to the way they were. For Ron to come round occasionally and drag me to the pub, where the other lads would be waiting. To have a laugh, which I hadn't done for a while now, unless at my own expense. I wanted Mrs. Weasley to go back to making cakes and knitting jumpers. And I wanted to go back to being the desperately uncool Neville Longbottom, only having to worry about the little things like what colour socks to wear or what flavour crisps should be eaten with beer.  
  
"Well.." Ron began, eyes fixed on the nasty wallpaper. "Thanks, Neville. And I almost forgot- Ginny wants to talk to you about something. She said you could find her at the Hag's Beard tonight."  
  
Ron glanced up at me and then left the room. I followed him to the door, where I made to open it for him. Ron tensed up and looked sideways at me.  
  
"No, it's alright. Really."  
  
Then he opened the door and let himself out, walking quickly up the path until he was out of sight. And silently, I made the resolution to break my relations with Mrs. Weasley for good, if not for myself and everybody else, then for Ron. I would also find Ginny in that stuffy little pub tonight and listen to whatever it was she had to tell me, and more importantly, I would talk to her. Properly.  
  
After I had swept up the ashes, of course. 


	11. Return of the mud wrestlers

Although Ron had asked me to break things off with Mrs. Weasley earlier, I hadn't yet got round to it. It was a thing that required much thought, and careful planning was not my forte. I had spent the rest of the day conversing with myself and trying different approaches, but to no avail. When I finally glanced at the clock, the time had read ten fifteen. And the pub closed at eleven! Not wanting to miss Ginny, I had flung on the nearest coat (turned out to be Uncle Algie's tweed affair) and left without another thought.  
  
The West Country's most miserable winter drizzle hit my face the second I shut the door behind me. I was rapidly heading for the Hag's Beard- the only wizarding pub for miles around, and a rather poor one at that. Every step brought me nearer to Ginny, the one who had held my heart since I first saw her. Perhaps I would tell her tonight. Perhaps, just maybe, it could all turn out for me in the end!  
  
As it was quicker through the fields, I jumped the stile and trudged my way through the mud. Luckily, the first pair of shoes I had pulled on happened to be wellingtons, which squelched comfortingly in the grass. Trying my best to avoid attracting attention to anything remotely bovine, I half ran, just waiting for that sign to swim into view.  
  
And lo, there it was, in all its peeling glory. In fact, the sign read "The Hag's ear ", the B and d long rejected. The ancient picture of the Hag in question was missing an eye and oddly, was growing mould. How could one so ravishing as Ginny sit in a pub where its namesake was growing yellow fungus? It seemed so wrong. I stepped in, ducking the extremely low doorstep. The smell of ale and tobacco instantly hit me, along with the drunken murmur of the West's wizards.  
  
From what I could see over some thirty pointy hats, there was nobody of flame hair. Unless you were to count Ariadne, the pale and silent barmaid sulking over the gillywater.  
  
"Ariadne, have you seen Ginny Weasley?" I asked, nudging her lightly. With vast effort, she blinked at me lazily and jerked her head in a vague direction.  
  
And indeed, there sat Ginny, the one bright star in a universe full of debris. Congratulating myself on my deep and poetic comment, I pulled up a creaky stool and joined her.  
  
"Well.." I flashed an apologetic grin, wishing it was I that had been on the gillywaters all evening instead of Ariadne. "I'm finally here."  
  
Ginny was looking at me strangely. Completely understandable- tweed had never been your average teenage fabric, after all. She glanced up at the clock, a garish rickety old thing with spoons for hands, then back at me with a stony-eyed determination.  
  
"Yes," she said, flashing me a blinding smile, "you are. Neville, there's something I need to tell you."  
  
Once again, I was reduced to a rather unappealing blancmange in her presence. I blinked twice, and nodded my head in as non-wobbly a fashion as I could manage.  
  
"Don't look so stunned! It's nothing bad.. Well, I hope not."  
  
"Hmm?" I offered eloquently. By that point, I was losing concentration. How could she look and sound and be so delectable at the same time? Surely it wasn't fair on a rather simple one such as I.  
  
"Neville, do you remember at Christmas when I wanted to tell you something and you said you had to go home?"  
  
Of course I did. It had been number two on my list of worries ever since. Had I really got it right- did she feel the same way? Why had I spurned her- did she think I'd rejected her? What was I going to say to her once she told me? I couldn't tell her that I loved her too, always had and always will, because things were messy enough as they were. Would I be doing the 'right thing' in telling her about just what I had been up to with her dear mother?  
  
"Yes, I do remember." I murmured, still half mixed up in my chain of worries.  
  
Ginny nodded, and swigged the last of her butterbeer. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, saying nothing. I had never been good at conversations, never sure when to carry on talking or to shut up. I felt I ought to contribute something, but my mind would not construct any rational sentences. Which meant that I had already created a fantastically awkward atmosphere, and this was before possibly telling the object of my affections that I was shagging her mum.  
  
"Last orders, Nev." Ginny said, pulling my attentions away from my neurotic self. "You look like you need a drink." You know, Ginny, I couldn't possibly agree more.  
  
"Right, right... yesss." I pulled myself off the stool and made my over to the bar, before remembering my absent manners. Trotting back to the table, I asked her majesty if I could buy her a drink.  
  
"That would be great." She said, giving me a smile that bathed me in rays of glowing sunlight. I congratulated myself once again on my ever-growing talent for poetry. "Would you get me one of those Gillywaters?"  
  
My eyes grew round. "Ginny! You're underage! Do you really think that's a good idea?"  
  
She gave me a look that said I-Couldn't-Give-A-Toss and jerked her head at the bar, egging me on. This was something I had never seen before- Ginny Weasley being bad. I didn't like it. She had been a saint in my eyes for too long, and to see her corrupted was painful. But at least it meant she was human, and if a Gillywater was she wanted, I would give it to her.  
  
"Hello again, Ariadne." I said, making my way back to the bar. She was now giving me a surly look, with one eyebrow raised at my having the audacity to speak to her.  
  
"Ariadne's a long name, isn't it?" I asked. Despite my knowing she would never answer, I always spoke to her in the hope that I would gain some conversational skills. It was also great fun to see if I could make her break and make a noise of some sort. "Can I shorten it? On second thoughts, Ariadne is a hard name to shorten, isn't it? How about a nickname? Like... Sparky?" I asked hopefully. Mute, as ever, she gave me a glorious one finger salute.  
  
"OK." I grinned at her, enjoying the way the scowl deepened. "Well, nice talking to you. I'll have a Gillywater and a Trollsblood Ale, please."  
  
She gave me the drinks and an additional look saying Piss-Off-Longbottom. Taking her cue, I carried the drinks carefully back to Ginny and placed them on the table.  
  
"Right." Ginny said, taking a long sip of the Gillywater and banging it back down on the table. "Neville, what I wanted to tell you that night was.. well.. I didn't just ask you to be my date so that Ron-and-Hermione wouldn't jump down my throat. Maybe you noticed, with the tree and everything." She broke off, eyeing me cautiously.  
  
Oh God, oh God, she was going to say it! I ought to be ecstatic, but how could I be when I had screwed things up so marvellously? I half wanted Ginny to come out with something totally different, like "It's because I fancy your Gran, Neville"- something which would not drag her or myself further into the tangled web Mrs. Weasley and I had woven.  
  
"The thing is, Neville.. You know, I really hate doing this." And I hate hearing it, Ginny. Just don't say it- it will be better for the both of us. Frowning at my own cowardice, I cleared my throat and forced myself to speak.  
  
"Ginny.. Gin.. Vir.. Ginny! You don't have to say it. I think I might know what it is."  
  
She leaned in closer.  
  
"You think I-"  
  
But her words were lost, for the landlord rung the rusty old bell and gave his customary farewell of "Bugger off home!". Ginny's eyes met mine in a burning glance, and we left together.  
  
The minute we were outside, Ginny put up her cherry red umbrella. Once again, we were surrounded by that freakish red glow, strangely comforting with her beside me.  
  
We began on our journey home, both stuck in an awkward silence. I had to catch her a couple of times as she went slipping through the mud, hands relaxing at the touch of her body.  
  
Suddenly, Ginny turned to me with a very grave expression on her face. I panicked. Here it came- the moment of truth I had been dreading. I set my face into an equally serious expression and looked into her eyes.  
  
"Neville, I just wanted to say-" Then, a wicked grin crossed her face and she pushed me over into the mud, sitting on my chest.  
  
It took a second for me to click. Ginny didn't seem the type to go throwing herself at anyone like that, after all. Then, she smudged my cheeks with mud and I remembered.  
  
"Want a rematch, do you, Weasley?" I asked in my most evil and powerful voice. I even added a laugh rich in malice before putting her into a headlock.  
  
Ginny cackled, and then squealed, and squealed some more. Thinking I had hurt her, I let her go, only to have Miss Mud herself give me a full on rugby tackle.  
  
"Ugh." I spat out a mouthful of mud, and surreptitiously grabbed a handful. Then, without warning, I tipped the whole handful down her back.  
  
The red umbrella lay discarded, bobbing cheerfully in a nearby puddle.We couldn't seem to stop laughing as we flung handfuls of mud at each other, fully enjoying our childish game. Far from the delicate waif she looked, Ginny actually gave a very good beating. Rather too good, actually.  
  
I was thinking about raising the white flag when I took my last move. Ginny was standing very close to a puddle with her back to me, emptying out her wellies. It was all too easy. Sneaking up behind her, I put her hand of her shoulder and pushed her right into the puddle, laughing at her screams of shock.  
  
I knelt down beside her, my sides splitting with laughter.  
  
"I'm sorry, Gin. Couldn't resist."  
  
But there was no audible reply from her. In a very sudden movement, she took my mud streaked face in her soaking hands. I tried to detect the emotion in her eyes, but could find no word for it. Slowly and hesitantly, she brought her face closer to mine until I could no longer see her eyes.  
  
"Ginny?" I whispered. But she said nothing, and brought her lips to mine. Her kiss was soft, sweet and better than I had ever imagined. Every time I had ever seen that mouth, I had wanted to kiss it and now I knew why. It was like everything was falling into place, I could see fireworks, I could hear violins and I knew that I loved this girl with every fibre of my being.  
  
But oh, I couldn't have her.  
  
Get off her, Neville. This is wrong. Wrong multiplied by infinity. Pull away! Do you want to hurt her?  
  
How could I stop, when everything felt so beautiful? Wasn't there any way I could stop time and stay here with her forever, where we were safe?  
  
It wasn't until I saw Gran's face looming over me, formidable and disgusted, that I knew I had to stop this. For her sake. For Ron's sake. It was the heroic thing to do.  
  
Gently, I took her wrists and pulled her hands away from my face. She stopped the kiss, looking straight into my eyes. She must have seen the sadness in them, for her brow wrinkled with concern as she asked what was wrong.  
  
What was wrong? I was wrong. I had done so many bad things. My mind went blank, so I let my mouth do the talking.  
  
"Ginny, I don't think I can do this. It's not wrong, it's what I've done with your mother that is. I've shagged her."  
  
Her eyes widened in horror, and I realised just what the bloody hell I had just said to her.  
  
No!!!  
  
Oh God.. I hadn't meant to be so blunt. I hadn't even meant to confess. And oh God, I had done it this time. Now two of the Weasleys knew, and one of them I loved more than I could ever love myself.  
  
And I had just told her I'd SHAGGED her mother.  
  
There was little else to do but run, water spilling out of the tops of my wellies as Uncle Algie's tweed began to soak through. I ran until I was sure she was out of sight; all the time telling myself how totally, utterly, completely stupid I was.  
  
But it was the kindest thing I could do to let her go. 


	12. Wendy House

For the rest of the walk home in vast blots of rain, I instructed my inner voice to silence itself. It seemed to cause nothing but trouble, after all. I wanted to clear my mind of the electrical bolts of chaos swarming through it before I went completely mad. Using my limited powers of meditation, I focussed one sole image in my mind. A cake. It was a small cake, most probably Sponge with layers of sticky raspberry jam and fluffy butter cream. No icing, but a sweet dusting of powdery sugar like a blanket of fresh snow. With a cherry on the top- plump, red, glossy and wholly inviting.  
  
Which was exceedingly good, but there was only so much of a cake you could picture. Before my own eyes, the cake began to waver and distort. Being seventeen, heterosexual and male, the cake became a breast. Which reminded me of women. Which, of course, reminded me of my own scarlet woman, who coincidentally was the mother of Ginny.  
  
Ginny! Oh God. Ginny..  
  
And I wasn't supposed to think about Ginny, was I? No. I wasn't ready to panic yet. I just didn't have the energy to howl for a love lost.  
  
So over the fields of mud I went, forcing myself to imagine the scent of the cake, the taste, the texture. The sound it made when the knife cut into it, scattering crumbs. Who the cherry would go to when it was cut into slices, or whether the cherry itself would be cut into tiny red slivers.  
  
By the time I got home, I was feeling thoroughly sick. I seemed to be seeing cakes everywhere- every bloody thing was related to cake. A nice way to take my mind off the impending chaos had turned into a worrying confectionary obsession that I wasn't sure would shift in time.  
  
"That you, Neville?" Gran called from the sofa. She was holding a glass containing a pinkish liquid which I had not seen her drink before. If I had not been in cake wonderland at the time, I might've been concerned for her. Gran always had a little nightcap before she went to bad, but I hadn't seen any alcohol in the house for a while and was beginning to worry about what exactly she was drinking of late.  
  
Gran nodded towards the coffee table, on which was placed a colourful box, a plate and a knife.  
  
"Slice of cake?"  
  
Cake?  
  
Cake cake cake cake cakey cake-cake. Gran had the same amount of letters as cake. And the same vowel. And come to think of it, her hair was the same colour as meringue.  
  
I pinched my upper arm, trying to remove any thoughts of cake from my mind. Resist the forces of confectionary, Longbottom. Focus.  
  
"No, thanks, Gran."  
  
Mrs. Weasley made cakes, didn't she? My secret lover. Yes, I had told Ginny about that. And possibly ruined my life. But it wouldn't do me any good to think about that now. Pulling myself together, I gritted my teeth and tried to make sensible conversation.  
  
"Gran, what are you drinking?"  
  
Gran shrugged, a very uncharacteristic gesture if you knew Mae Longbottom, and passed me her glass. A strong, vinegar scent hit my nose immediately and caught in the back of my throat. A sip burnt my throat with harsh acidity, and I realised exactly what it was:  
  
The liquid that preserves tinned beetroots.  
  
Choking on the foul liquid, I coughed for over a minute and then spat it out into a pot-plant when she wasn't looking.  
  
"Gran," I asked tentatively, voice raspy with the effects of the beetroot concoction, "do you think you might have a drinking problem?"  
  
The cake was beginning to fade in my mind, and the dusky pinks and yellowed whites of the room came back into view. Gran ignored my question, spreading marmalade on to a scone. It was then that the thoughts I had been trying so hard to avoid came bursting into my head with a vengeance, stronger and more bitter than any quantity of beetroot pickling juice.  
  
What had I done to Ginny? Her mother and I were walking on thin ice before, but now I had slipped through with no sign of rescue. I couldn't swim. I had hurt her son, my friend and now her daughter, my future.  
  
Why had I done it? Any of it- why sleep with Mrs. Weasley, in the first place? I could have said that I'd lost my inhibitions, happens to the best of us sometimes, after all. But it wasn't completely true. Yes, I had been swept up in the passion of the moment and there was no way that I was thinking straight when it happened. But I did know it was wrong before we did it, during the time we were doing it and those painstaking moments after, staring at that crack in the ceiling from under the paisley quilt; wondering.  
  
So what was going to happen to this Neville Longbottom I never imagined I could become?  
  
"Gran?" I asked again, taking her elegant hand in mine. She frowned at the physical contact, but did not break it.  
  
"If... If you ever found out that I.. I did something really, really bad," I paused, tracing the edge of her wedding ring, "would you still-"  
  
If she would still 'love' me was the wrong question. Gran prided herself on being a strong woman, and therefore not showing any weak emotions. Love, in her case was one of these, and she had never shown me love in any affectionate or sentimental way, shape or form. She did love me, and I knew that but she did not like to be reminded that she could feel that way. I didn't dislike her for her 'heart of stone', in fact I admired her. It just made me a little more desperate for affection, which, as I knew full well had proved not be the best of cravings.  
  
Instead, I signalled to her with my eyes what I meant. Surprisingly, she read me well, and instead of asking me where I got that unsightly eye twitch, she gave a silent nod. For the few seconds that she nodded her head, her face seemed to soften a little. If I had blinked I'd have missed it, but the gesture meant more to me than any "Of course I would still love you, darling," would. Because it was so typically Gran, teamed with the way she quickly set her face back to its harsh graveness and released my hand as quickly as I had taken it- but not before giving it the tiniest of squeezes.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
*  
  
That momentary comfort soon faded into dust. Angsty Neville made a sharp comeback, continuously asking "What happens now?"  
  
I didn't know. It wasn't in my nature to know what to do when something went wrong. I much preferred the option of running around like a headless chicken and waiting for the problem to go away. It was far too tempting to go and bury my head in the sand, except for the fact that it would probably irritate my asthma. Finding a cave and becoming a hermit was another option, though I was none too fond of the dark either.  
  
Neville Longbottom, ladies and gents, the boy who is too cowardly to be a coward!  
  
But why should I have to deal with this problem on my own? It was Mrs. Weasley's problem just as much as it was mine. Talking to her would help, of that I was certain. It was just a case of finding the right words and the confidence to use them.  
  
Without giving it any more thought, I grabbed my quill and ink from the window sill and began the search for a piece of parchment. There had to be some somewhere- it wasn't like I wrote copious amounts, after all. But I was wasting time, and eventually ripped the back off an Every Flavour Beans packet in great haste. I dipped my quill, sucked to the spine, into the ink and scrawled a quick note.  
  
Mrs. W Need to talk Meet you at Wendy House Urgent  
  
N  
  
*  
  
The Wendy House had been discarded by the children some time ago. It sat miserably at the edge of the playground, forever surrounded by happy laughs and squeals from the swings and slides. The door was now rusty and creaked eerily when finally opened. You had to be very careful when stepping inside if you did not want to bump your head on the low ceiling. Which is exactly what I did, fool that I am. And rather painfully, too.  
  
The one bonus of the Wendy House was that it had a roof, and therefore a shelter from England's perpetually bad weather. Its biggest disadvantage was the child size furniture. The chairs were not designed to fit my bottom, and strained under my less than waif-like physique.  
  
Whilst I mused over my Goldilocks situation, I began to worry that she wouldn't turn up. For a start, I shouldn't have trusted Oscar to find The Burrow. Oscar, our family owl shared my terrible memory and incompetence in most ordinary things. If he had managed to deliver the note correctly, who was to say that it hadn't fallen into the wrong hands?  
  
I turned my attentions to a red plastic teapot sitting on the low table. It was patterned with six garish, yellow ducks, that had been enchanted some time ago to quack. Today, they gave a lacklustre performance, a definite croak to their quack as I turned the teapot over to see scrawled on the base "VW". Virginia Weasley.  
  
"Blimey. Door's a bit low, isn't it?"  
  
Once again, Mrs. Weasley's spontaneous appearance shocked me to the bone. Which was rather unfortunate, as I took the tiny chair tumbling to the floor with me. Goodbye, dignity. You and I don't really seem to get on, do we?  
  
There I was, a tangle of limbs and split pine, blinking up at the woman who given and taken so much at the same time. She was wearing what looked like the first items off the family laundry basket- Ron's Chudley Canons sweatshirt hung to her knees over what may or may not have been a pair of checked pyjama bottoms. And on her feet she wore Ginny's lovely red wellies, now coated with clumps of mud. All in all, she wasn't pulling off the temptress look too well. "There goes a relic of my childhood," I flashed a sheepish grin, brushing myself off. She responded with a smile so awkward it wobbled between us for at least a minute.  
  
"You do take me to classy places," she remarked, tracing the splintery initials carved into the wooden wall with her fingers.  
  
"Yes." I laughed- a short, foghorn burst of laughter that was all over the place, much like myself.  
  
"Mm." Mrs. Weasley tilted her head to one side, trying to read me with the laser eyes of a mother.  
  
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"  
  
Where did I start?  
  
"Well.. Quite a lot, really. No, everything. I've made quite a mess of things, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
I was suddenly brought back to that explosive moment in her bedroom, when her hand was just inches from my face. She was angry, I was scared and confused.  
  
"But who do you think they'll believe, you or me? You won't even be able to speak to them. And it all looks a bit suspicious, doesn't it, a happily married family woman on the one hand. What's on the other, Neville? A boy they've been expecting to turn bad for years. They're just waiting for you to turn out like your mum and dad."  
  
Even as I stood there, on that Persian rug, I knew she was right. And now, I knew that once the rumour spread itself like some foul disease, they would all be shaking their heads at how sweet Neville Longbottom turned out.  
  
"Ron knows, Mrs. Weasley. He saw us at Christmas, and I told him everything. I told him it was all my fault- well, you're his mum, I had to. I know it really hurt him- do you know how worried I was, am? What we did wasn't right. It was selfish, wasn't it? It was pleasure and it was comfort. We're not bad people, Mrs. Weasley. You make cakes!" I pointed at her, caught up in my spiel. "You make cakes for people. Everybody always talks about how lovely you are. So why do this to yourself? It's not like we love each other. No, what makes it worse is that I'm in love with someone."  
  
I gestured to the teapot on the table, and her eyes widened with the revelation.  
  
"Ginny." She said, in less than a whisper. I nodded.  
  
"She's all I ever wanted. I could've had her too," I added bitterly, "if I hadn't ruined everything. Tonight, Mrs. Weasley, I told her how I felt. There was a mud fight, and we kissed. I bought her a Gillywater- I didn't think you'd mind. I think.. I think she liked me too. It was perfect- except that I kept thinking of you. Of us. I felt so guilty that I.." I looked straight into her eyes, feeling the little lightning bolts between us flicker and jump, stronger than ever before.  
  
"I told her too, Mrs. Weasley. I said.. 'Ginny, I don't think I can do this. It's not wrong, it's what I've done with your mother that is. I've shagged her'. Can you imagine? I said shag. I don't even say sex!"  
  
For some bizarre, unknown reason, I found myself begin to laugh. And so did she, until our riot filled the Wendy House with unhinged howls. There wasn't even anything particularly funny in what I was saying- quite the opposite. But it had us in stitches. Imagine, a chubby, incompetent boy- next-door and a jovial, cake-making mummy's affair causing so much trouble!  
  
"Mrs. Weasley.." I gasped, clutching my side. She looked up from the pile of cushions on the floor, propping herself up with a dimpled elbow. "This isn't very funny, really."  
  
"No no.. It's a very serious matter. We must mend this mess we've made immediately." I looked at Mrs. Weasley's grave expression, and the laughter started again. I began to wonder if we were fully sane.  
  
"Oh dear.. Neville. I never thought I'd be in a situation like this. I was so happy with Arthur and the children- well, it may have been a bit boring but I wasn't considering taking up a toy-boy, I can tell you that. I'm very sorry it had to be you, you really are such a nice lad. And you're right, I don't really suit being a scarlet woman." She tugged at the Canons sweatshirt for emphasis. "Neither of us are the brightest penny in the jar. Maybe that's what started it- not really knowing what we wanted.."  
  
She trailed off, turning Ginny's teapot over in her hands.  
  
"I suppose now would be a sensible time to stop this, sweetheart. And don't you worry about picking up the pieces, I've got excuses pouring out of my ears. I may not have seemed like it, but I was worrying just as much as you were."  
  
She gave me a weak smile, and the room which had previously rocked with laughter fell awkwardly silent. Neither of us knew what to say or do, but found comfort in each other's presence. Maybe we could pick up the pieces and make everything alright again.  
  
"Ginny'll want this." Mrs. Weasley said, scooping up the teapot and walking to the door. She hunched her shoulders, not wanting to bump her head and gave me a wink.  
  
"Bye, lover."  
  
And the woman who I could no longer call mine or scarlet disappeared into Devonshire's early morning. It was strange how I felt so small without her presence. I was suddenly Neville Longbottom again- alone and leading a life so mundane I was never bored. And somehow, I didn't think I liked it too much. Suddenly, I wanted the laughter and the cinnamon and the tangy excitement.  
  
Suddenly, I wanted her. 


	13. Wedding Bells and Dreading Spells

Confusion was no foreign feeling to me. I had grown up with it, and the feeling had become like an old friend. There was nothing quite like the faint wave of befuddlement, the throbbing doubt of perplexity, that cheery upward inflection a question mark gave to your sentence. It had become such a part of my everyday life that when I was not confused, I puzzled over why not.  
  
But the full on, flashing-neon-lights, all singing-all-dancing stab of mystification was something else completely. It kept me awake at night, so tired of the same questions running through my mind unanswered that I could not even try to sleep. Every other word in my thoughts was 'Ginny' or 'Mrs. Weasley'. Everything I saw distorted into their faces, everything I heard I related to them.  
  
Bizarrely, this reminded me of a hideous chat-up line Seamus was prone to using as soon as puberty kicked in. 'You must be tired. You've been running through my mind all evening..' Ugh. Well, if that held any truth at all, I had unintentionally murdered both Ginny and her mother through exhaustion.  
  
I found myself in the kitchen on a Saturday morning, absent-mindedly plopping a teabag into an Albus Dumbledore mug that Gran had sent off for from the Daily Prophet years ago. The less than dulcet tones of Fred's band throbbed through the wall from nextdoor's garage, and as I waited for the kettle to boil I tried to distinguish the music from the noise. Not a lot of people knew that Fred had a band, and were probably better off not knowing.  
  
The kettle's whistle coincided with the last chord, and almost mechanically, I made my tea. The excitement and suspense that Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had brought to my life had faded the moment my scarlet woman left the Wendy House. I often wondered if she had made it alright again, as she promised. What could she have said to Ginny to justify her sordid relations? "Sorry, dear. My hormones were playing me up"? Something along the grossly clichéd lines of "We were in the right place at the right time"?  
  
I had seen Mrs. Weasley a few times at the apothecary on the corner since the night at the playground. She had had her hair done since, and no longer did it curl around her face but fell in soft waves about her shoulders. With a shameful pang, I couldn't help wondering if it still smelt like cinnamon. For some reason, her hair being different irritated me. It made her no longer a part of me, however twisted and immoral a part it was. There was one occasion when we bumped into each other at the bile counter. She smiled, I blushed and a heavy, awkward silence befell us. Then the lady served her and she was gone in an instant- just like that.  
  
I couldn't help feeling that my story was told, that I, Neville Longbottom, had taken my five minutes of glory and thrown it away in an instant. Only I wasn't ready to give up my scarlet women. Having them in spirit was not enough, I wanted them in person. The way I saw it was that the two merged into one to make my soul mate. There was the comfort and mothering from Mrs. Weasley, and the fun, perfect romance from Ginny. The thing is, I just didn't have it in me to be greedy like that." You can't have your cake and eat it", as Gran often said.  
  
By the time I had speculated, cogitated and debilitated, my tea had gone stone cold. On the plus side, though, Weasel were having a tea break and my eardrums could have a rest.  
  
It was then that I noticed the pile of owl post on one of the worktops. Since Gran wasn't the type to be disorganised, I figured that the letters were all for me. What I discovered, in fact, was around twenty pieces of junk mail advertising the most ridiculous wares on the market. Who in their right mind, I wondered, would want a broomstick mounted table? It wasn't very often that you would stop for a six course gourmet dinner in mid air, after all.  
  
Once I had finally disposed of the gaudy enchanted parchments, I noticed a very small envelope sitting by the Yucca plant. I picked it up out of curiosity and held it up towards the dim February sun. It had not been addressed, but was decorated with a gold stencil of two doves.  
  
Which could only mean one thing: The Long Awaited Wedding Invitation of Doom.  
  
I opened it as though it might be a letter bomb, trying not to look at it. With a few hasty "pull yourself together man"s, I took the small card out of the envelope and scanned the delicate, swirly handwriting. It was true. It was a wedding invitation. In fact, it was the invitation for the wedding of the century. Ron and Hermione. The horrors..  
  
Actually, I thought it was very sweet. It was inevitable that they would end up together from the minute they started bickering. I wouldn't miss them becoming husband and wife for the world. It was just that everybody who had ever known about the affair would be attending- what's more, one of them was the groom. You know what happens at weddings, people get drunk, secrets get spilt and fights break out. Of course, Mr. Weasley would be there. Assuming that he hadn't been told already, he would be rather peeved to say the least. I could just imagine the news spreading across the long table, until the father of the groom tapped his glass with the side of his spoon and declared Mr. N. Longbottom dead meat. There would then be a massive brawl, all under the influence of champagne, and Mrs. Weasley would look on horrified as her husband insisted she left the country immediately. I would be sent home in an envelope, limbs in all four corners of the United Kingdom and Gran would die alone and ashamed.  
  
But I couldn't just miss the wedding of two great friends. Putting a slightly sweaty hand to my breast, I swore to abandon my cowardice for the good of the people. It wasn't definite that the secret would leak out, in fact, it was less than likely. On the very unlikely occasion that it did, I would have to face the music and explain my behaviour. These people were not animals. They had the grace to let a man explain himself and to forgive.  
  
At least, I hoped they did. They had to. Didn't they?  
  
*  
  
Once I had tackled the fear and grown a spine, I took myself out to buy a suitable pair of robes. I ended up with a pair of robes that would please even Gran- soft grey, perfectly tailored pinstripe. I had to make a good impression, after all, and look the least toy-boy like that I could. Strangely, the robes gave me a certain confidence and a feeling of importance. When I put on those robes, I could hear the words 'I, Neville Longbottom, am a man of purpose' reach a soaring crescendo. Just what that purpose was, I didn't know.  
  
A few days later, I took Gran up to Diagon Alley to find a spectacular wedding present. It hadn't yet sprung to mind that I was being slightly sycophantic to the Weasleys and trying to get them on my side before any damage was done. I simply thought that if I could reinvent myself, things would turn out fine. Maybe I would win Ginny back. Maybe..  
  
We traipsed around shop after shop, looking at cauldrons, charms, robes, even owls. By the time that we were seriously considering giving a Gilderoy Lockhart paperweight- sadly, the man still had publicity from the lonely housewives of the wizarding realm- we knew we were defeated.  
  
As Gran mumbled something about a cutlery set, my eyes wandered to a large tree in the town square. Its gnarled branches twisted around themselves; roots firmly in the ground they had been standing in for centuries. Once again, I allowed myself to be mesmerised by the wonders of nature. Why couldn't everybody see the beauty of a new shoot rising towards the Sun, one day to stand tall on its own? How was it that people could pass these beautiful, fascinating things by without even giving them a second thought?  
  
Then it struck me.  
  
Lucifera- the wizarding world's most magnificent plant. When first put into soil, it is extremely dull looking with no flowers and with thick, smooth black branches. Many gardeners lost faith in their Lucifera, dismissing it as a hopeless, boring plant. But oh, they were missing out- they did not know its great secret. At night, the Lucifera comes to life, raising its branches to reveal small, pearlescent orb-shaped flowers that reflect the moonlight, looking like the plant is holding little moons in its uninspiring hands.  
  
It would be the most beautiful and original wedding present. Hermione would know all about it, raving about all the books she'd seen it mentioned in. Ron would just accept it for its beauty and make sure it was cared for adequately. I knew they would love it, and in return, love me a little more for giving it.  
  
The only thing was, it happened to be the most expensive and hard to find plant in the country.  
  
*  
  
So, determined to raise enough money for the Lucifera, who I had affectionately nicknamed Lucy; I applied for the nasty task of collecting glasses and washing up at the Hag's Beard.  
  
After putting on my most eager-to-please clothes, I took the long walk to the pub, being especially careful not to get any mud or cow pat on my shoes. I had been asked to arrive at 10 o' clock, an hour before the Hag opened, but my watch only read a quarter past nine. For some reason, my tumultuous affairs had made me so desperate to please that it was getting just plain creepy.  
  
I brushed off any excess mud at the door and practised my greetings for Toby, the stony landlord.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Strumpet, I'm Neville, your new apprentice. How can I help?"  
  
"Toby, hi. I'm Neville. Shall I get started?"  
  
"Good morning, Mr. Strumpet! Not too early am I? I'm.."  
  
Much to my surprise, the door opened and there stood Ariadne, a sour look on her face as she passed a rolling pin through her hands. I gave her a weak smile and blinked, not enjoying the tense silence between us one bit.  
  
Finally, she gave me the you-coming-in-or-not? look, and I followed her inside. She pointed to the bar, then to a large cabinet full of plates and finally the tables, after which she disappeared through the back door.  
  
I panicked. I needed words and strict instructions. Was I to lay the tables for lunch, or sort out the bar, wash the plates and then clean the tables? Or something completely different?  
  
"Shall I set the plates out?" I asked as she came staggering in with a box of Firewhisky some minutes later, feeling like a bit of a lemon just standing there. She nodded and started unpacking the box at the bar while I went to the cabinet for the seemingly charming china plates you only ever see at pubs.  
  
Feeling like I ought to break the ice with my new colleague, I asked a question which I believed to be sensitive and thoughtful.  
  
"So, Ariadne, can you actually speak?"  
  
Which turned out to be totally the wrong question. She flipped me the customary V-Sign and went back to her bottles. I began to wonder what I could say next, or if I ought to say anything at all. Perhaps this was yet another time to hold my tongue. Whilst I was mulling this over, I felt Ariadne prod me in the back with her wand and yelped with surprise.  
  
She raised her wand in the air and wrote:  
  
I was tragically born without a tongue  
  
I blinked. Was that even possible? Or was she using her surly charms of sarcasm?  
  
"Are you being sarcastic? I can't really tell from your writing." I told her, as she poised her wand in the air.  
  
No  
  
Ah. But this was surely a trick..  
  
"Was that sarcasm, then?"  
  
An evil smile crept across her face and she nodded. I gave a short burst of confused laughter, not really sharing the same sense of humour as my mute friend.  
  
I hear you've been a very naughty boy, she wrote, all the time keeping that eyebrow arched. Again, I blinked. And then, the horrible realisation dawned on me. Did she. know? What did she mean by 'naughty boy?' Of course, sleeping with a forty-plus lady and being in love with her daughter at the same time did qualify as 'naughty' behaviour. There wasn't really anything else in my life that would be a great source of gossip, either.  
  
If she did know, how much did she know and how did she find out?  
  
"Er.. What do you know?" I asked, frantically scratching the back of my neck. If she knew, her- the mute, insignificant barmaid, then she can't have been the only one! It was probably all over Cornwall by now, never mind Ottery St. bloody Catchpole.  
  
Nothing, wrote the speechless dame, and disappeared behind the door again before I could even muster a reply.  
  
And if that 'Nothing' was sarcasm too, there was a chance that Neville Longbottom was in big, big trouble. 


	14. Breaking Tides

The sun had come out for Ron and Hermione's wedding, bathing the grounds of St. Emphysema's in a warm, sweet light. I searched for a trace of scarlet hair, but it was barely possible to see through the crowd of witches and wizards, all clad in pastel robes. We looked like a sweetshop, a swirl of frosty pinks, dusky mauves, lemon and sunshine yellows, mint greens and soft, subdued greys.  
  
The first thing I did when I woke up that morning was put on my brand new, ever-so-nice smile I had been perfecting of late. I wanted to radiate the innocence and sweetness that Neville Longbottom used to have, but got lost along the way.  
  
I couldn't quite forget what Ariadne had said at the Hag. 'I hear you've been a very naughty boy'. I had initially panicked, and begged her to tell me what she meant but there's only so much you can out of a surly mute. She just smiled that cat eyed, half smile of hers whenever I asked and on some occasions, winked. My more optimistic side tried to persuade me that she was joking, but the pessimist overruled. Today was the test- I would see where, if anywhere, the gossip had got to.  
  
I snapped out of my pensive state to see that the whirl of delicious colours was moving towards a small alter and row of pews set up on the lawn. I started to follow them, stumbling slightly so as not to fall behind. I scanned the rows of heads at the pews for Gran's lilac, peacock- feathered hat, finally finding it next to Fudge's lime green bowler. I said my "excuse me"s, shuffling along the row until I reached my place.  
  
Ron was looking extremely green at the alter, not sure whether to stand still or pace in pointless circles. I could vaguely see Harry trying to calm him down, and at the same time trying to get to grips with his best man's speech. And then I saw Mrs. Weasley, hanging on to her husband's arm for dear life, looking worse than the Groom. She looked delicious in creamy chiffon robes with blue embroidery and a matching blue hat with a silk flower, letting the material flow off her sumptuous curves. It was only when Mr. Weasley caught my eye that I realised I was staring rather openly- perhaps even drooling, God forbid. I choked with embarrassment, telling myself what a dirty, dirty boy I was. I shuffled my feet, averted my eyes and suddenly became very interested in my newly polished black lace up size tens.  
  
Luckily, Hermione's prompt arrival took my mind off the certain voluptuous redhead. Unfortunately, though, it brought my attentions to a certain flame haired beauty instead. I had barely looked at the bride before my eyes wandered to Ginny, walking behind her in saffron satin. Her bright hair, flowing down her back to meet that warm shade was more than I could take. She was like a goddess, a beholder of the flame and I could feel her fire alive in me.  
  
The church bells rang out, awakening me from my reverie and the ceremony began.  
  
*  
  
The sun hit the roof of the pale marquee, bringing in a hazy, shaded light. I was blissfully unaware of the wedding reception around me, having taken to the champagne quite quickly. I was watching Mrs. Weasley drag a reluctant Ron around the dance floor. Her skirt twirled out behind her as she executed some complicated criss-cross with extreme vigour.  
  
I couldn't spot Mr. Weasley anywhere. Although I was dead scared he might know our little secret, his absence didn't reassure me at all. In fact, it made me very nervous. Very nervous that he would suddenly come storming in like some wild thing, robes torn and hanging off his lean shoulders screaming my name. Perhaps he was so broken by his wife's affair he couldn't bear to attend his own son's wedding.  
  
I poured some more champagne, watching the small bubbles with real intent. The more I thought about my problems, the worse they would get Come to think of it, ignoring my problems wouldn't solve anything either, but I'd rather be blind drunk than frustrated.  
  
I couldn't remember how many glasses I'd had when I saw the Groom moving across the floor towards me but I suppose I was just a bit past tipsy. Ron looked a little bit worse for wear himself, if not incredibly uncomfortable. I barely noticed him sit down next to me and I didn't acknowledge the awkward silence between us. It was only when Ron stood up, paced a few steps and sat back down that I really noticed him.  
  
"Nice wedding," I offered, not being sure how to make wedding small talk. Ron nodded, smiled falsely, got up again and then sat back down, opening his mouth as if to speak and then stopping himself in a deep frown.  
  
"Um, yeah. Thanks."  
  
He poured himself a glass of champagne and we both stared at the bubbles for a while.  
  
"How's.. er.. Hermione?" I asked, tracing my finger around the edge of my glass.  
  
This seemed to relax Ron a little. A small smile spread across his face as he looked down at his ring.  
  
"It's.. weird, Neville. She's my.. well, she's my wife." He broke off, shaking his head in disbelief.  
  
I gave him my charming I'm-happy-for-you smile in return and offered him a top up of champagne.  
  
"Stuff gives you a bloody awful hangover," Ron remarked. It was then that I started to realise that Ron was procrastinating about something. It was obvious from his somewhat incoherent babble and his unfocussed, darting eyes. I broke him off halfway through his fascinating spiel about French nineteenth-century vineyards, staring straight at him. I told him what he wanted to hear.  
  
"I'm not seeing your mum anymore."  
  
Ron just stared at me, a little taken aback.  
  
"Er, yes, well.. I know." He muttered, scratching his ear uncomfortably.  
  
"How's Ginny?" I asked, not feeling like skirting around the subject. The wonders of alcohol. "I told her I shagged your mum."  
  
Oh, that was wicked. I watched him cringe at the word 'shag', enjoying it far more than I should. He began to twist the yellow gingham tablecloth in his hands, wearing that frown that not even his own wedding could remove.  
  
"You can never tell with Ginny. She's a strong person." He said, more to his hands than to me. Had I not been under the influence, I might've shut up and allowed him to enjoy the best day of life. But the fact was, I was becoming less and less myself with every sip. I just wanted to make him squirm.  
  
"Did you talk to your mum about it?" I was most curious about this. Even if she did try to tell him, would he want to know?  
  
"She.. Yeah. She told us about it. I think I understand." Ron suddenly stiffened and gave me an almost haughty look. "Though that doesn't make what either of you did right."  
  
I almost laughed. State the obvious, why don't you Weasley? I began to plan my exit before the long contained chaos broke loose. Suddenly, though, I remembered Ariadne and the supposed gossip. Maybe Ron had something to do with it? Only four of us really knew about it, after all.  
  
". Buying us that pretty, shiny plant thing doesn't redeem what you did. I appreciate it and all, but you don't expect me to forgive you, do you? Please tell me you're not that shallow."  
  
No, Ronald, I am unfortunately that shallow. I cut him off, looking straight at him. My plan to be charming and lovely for the day had fallen flat very quickly. But as Ron said, quite rightly, being nice didn't redeem what I did. Perhaps I wasn't a very nice person. I was never good at self- judgement.  
  
"Ron, did you tell anyone about this?"  
  
Ron looked up from his hands, laughing slightly.  
  
"Couldn't." He said softly. "Not even Hermione."  
  
So it wasn't Ron. One down, two to go.  
  
"Well.." I muttered, almost to myself. I felt more than a little lost. "Enjoy your wedding, Ron. Don't let me spoil it, will you?" I patted his shoulder and left in a flash, making my way into the fresh air. The sun was beginning to set now and a cool breeze had set in. I kept on walking, not even questioning where I was going. It was all too confusing, too awkward- the story of my life. I laughed bitterly to myself and started to self-indulgently go through all my failures.  
  
I stopped at a car park for all the muggle relatives on Hermione's side. The tiredness and the champagne began to set in properly, and I lay down on the bonnet of a pale blue Ford Anglia to watch the clouds engulf the sun.  
  
I was just drifting off when a voice from nowhere scared the living daylights out of me.  
  
"Do you come with the car?"  
  
I opened my eyes, blinking in the dim light to see Ginny standing there. She was still perfect in that dress. So perfect and I had tainted her with sordid details of my deceitful affairs.  
  
"No," I muttered, half drowsy, "the car's usually first, screaming my name as I rev her up."  
  
Ginny laughed, but I wanted to kick myself. I'd shagged her mum and here I was making sexual innuendos as if it was nothing to me.  
  
"Er.. Sorry. Sorry. Bit drunk." Her face swum out of focus again and I pulled myself into a sitting position so that she could join me.  
  
"That's two of us." She said, squeezing in beside me. "Everyone keeps giving me champagne. Not that I'm complaining or anything."  
  
I gave her a weak smile. At least she was talking to me. Hang on, why was she talking to me? Why would she give me valuable time after what I did?  
  
"Shouldn't you be off burning effigies of me?" I asked her, not daring to look at her face. The heat jumping between us was already more than I could handle. Ginny laughed again.  
  
"Probably. I wish I could." She trailed off suddenly, watching the seagulls circle overhead.  
  
"Could what?"  
  
"I wish I could hate you for this. For what you did. I think you and Mum must be pretty perverted. If my dad found out.." She trailed off again. I watched her saffron dress pool out on the blue bonnet in a rich blaze of colours. "Mum tried to justify it- it doesn't make sense to me, though. I don't think it ever will." She sighed quietly and began picking at a piece of wedding cake.  
  
"Ginny, I'm sorry for what I did. To you, to everyone. I didn't think I could screw up anyone's life besides my own." It was my turn to sigh. She passed me a piece of wedding cake and we began to break it into crumbs for the seagulls. "It's weird, you know. I keep thinking that this isn't me. Like I'm reading about some other Neville Longbottom. What was I doing, Ginny? Sleeping with her.. It didn't mean anything then, but.."  
  
"Stop." Ginny said, putting a finger to my lips. "I don't want to talk about this. What's happened's happened, Neville. Maybe one day you can tell me about it.. But not now."  
  
With a half smile, she got up. The satin made a harsh, unfriendly noise against the metal of the car. "I'll see you!" I called after her as she disappeared into the marquee.  
  
You never can tell with Ginny.. But for all the strength in her, I knew she had been hurt. Perhaps the worst thing for her was the inability to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I mean, even I couldn't get any sense out of it. How must it have been for Ginny and Ron, to see their mother fall from grace so spectacularly without any kind of explanation?  
  
What had she told them, anyway? What had distracted Ron from his wedding day enough to share those awkward words? What had left Ginny so unfulfilled?  
  
These thoughts took me on another walk, this time down the chalky steps of the Cliffside. I could see the waves breaking on the rocky shore. I half wanted to be washed away from this place before I caused any more trouble. My feet began to crunch along the pebbles as I walked toward the sea, still lost in thought.  
  
An alien crunching of pebbles told me that I was not alone. I did not have to look up to know who was there, dipping their burgundy painted toenails into the water. She didn't have to look at me either, before she spoke.  
  
"I used to come here when I was young." She sounded sad, floating in and out of her memories. Perhaps wishing herself back there.  
  
"It's so quiet here." I said, picking up a smooth, round pebble.  
  
The sun set completely, leaving behind silver sparkles on the horizon.  
  
"I wanted to feel young again," she said, holding her skirt up as she waded deeper, "another one flown the nest. It's so bizarre.. I can barely remember not being a wife or a mother."  
  
I cast off the robes that had not given me the confidence I wanted, nor the charm and rolled up my trouser legs. I joined her in the water, trying to be a man about its icy cold and failing miserably. I met the sea with a girlish yelp, wanting nothing more than to run back to the shore with a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate.  
  
"You want to hang on to your youth. Don't you waste a second of it," Mrs. Weasley told me, "though I may have spoiled it for you, on second thoughts."  
  
My teeth chattered as my ankles slowly went numb. Would I say that she spoilt my youth? Or did I ruin it? Perhaps I would even look back on this affair with pride. I had, after all, had it off with someone aged forty- plus. A housewife, to crown it all!  
  
I asked her what she had told Ginny and Ron, but she would give no answer. Each time I asked, she would say less until I realised that it really wasn't any of my business. I gave up after a while, knowing how stubborn she could be. And besides, she looked so amazing, standing there knee deep in the dusk's chilly water with that dreamy look in her eye.  
  
"You're incredible, Mrs-" I began, not being able to help myself. Although the cold had sobered me up, it had given me this fantastic bravado.  
  
"Molly."  
  
"Molly." I said softly, barely opening my mouth. Somehow, it was overpowering. I had never called her by her name before. It made her a person- not Mrs. Weasley, the middle-aged mummy who I had knocked off but Molly. Voluptuous, beautiful Molly who owned the oceans at night. Molly with the cinnamon hair. Mrs. Weasley didn't belong to me. But Molly was mine, and mine alone.  
  
I think she shared that revelation, for she called me by my name and looked at me with a light in her eyes. We stood only inches apart in that saltwater, undeniable sparks flying between us.  
  
"Molly," I whispered again as I took her face in my hands and tasted the salt on her mouth. I was nothing but gentle, remembering the kisses we had shared before. Hard, lusty kisses, full of immorality. Clumsy hands clawing at each other like scared animals.  
  
It had been wrong. A seventeen year old and a woman three times his age. Scandalous, perverted as some might say. She was married happily with seven children. It could have caused the family all kinds of grief. Still could, of course but I had switched off my very feeble power of sensibility at that point. It didn't have to be wrong anymore. We could be secret lovers! Like Lady Chatterley and Mellors- she was married and he was just an ordinary lad. And with that, my common sense upped and left with a look of disgust.  
  
I was still cradling her face, actually looking at her for the first time. She was looking back at me, this time her being the one assessing the morality of the situation. I take a risk of sounding vomit-inducingly sentimental here- perhaps like Ron or Hermione, but there seemed to be something spiritual between us. The moment was out of this world. We were stood in this freezing water, just looking at each other. Or perhaps we were looking into each other, spiritually speaking.  
  
After some time, the moment was broken by the sound of Ron's inebriated friends clamouring on the cliff. We broke apart, hearing Seamus screech something about skinny-dipping. She ran up the beach, grabbing up her shoes and pulling them on as she made for the steps. I pulled on my robes and shoes, going up the other flight of steps so we didn't spark any rumours.  
  
I watched the tide come in momentarily, on a high from the extraordinary emotions she had given me. I wasn't going to come down for quite some time, and that suited me fine. I was almost certain I loved her. Coming back down to Earth would be a very painful landing. 


	15. Murder on the Dance Floor?

Back at the marquee, the party was in full swing. A stream of enchanted lights replaced the sunlight, glowing blue, pink and green. The band had obviously been playing for quite a while, looking sweaty and disgruntled as they struggled to get the geriatric contingent on to the dance floor. It looked as though the singer had already given up- the karaoke had started. On my arrival Hermione, understandably worse for wear, was singing a hideously sentimental ode to her husband with her veil lopsided. Those who were dancing had paired off, lost in each other. Those who weren't cried into their champagne, stewing in alcohol and self-pity.  
  
I, of course, was too love struck, too hopeless to join the masses. Instead, I shuffled over to a seat in the far corner and fell into a dreamy trance. How had I failed to notice how amazing she was? Was there anybody more beautiful in the world than she? All this time I had been so convinced it was Ginny.. Sweet Virginia. Molly was my sordid lover, a symbol of all that was wrong. Now I had trampled my morals to the ground. My realistic demons had been slain! I wouldn't need them any more. Not with her.  
  
We could run away together. We'd find a tiny little island where nobody knew our names. It'd be great- at first, we wouldn't even have a house or any money. We'd live the romantic life of the fugitive, living for the moment and nothing else. Together, we'd slowly but surely build a house. It wouldn't be much, but it would be ours. All ours. We'd take evening walks along the coast, collecting all the special things that the sea had left behind to decorate our house with. I'd make her necklaces of seashells and coral whilst she waded in her beloved ocean. I would do anything for her- I'd climb trees that reached the sky for the sweetest fruit. I'd learn to catch fish and in the evening, we'd light a fire and watch the sun set together. And we'd never get lonely- it would just be Neville and Molly, two extraordinary people in love.  
  
Perfection.  
  
I kept seeing flashes of Ginny's orange satin twirl before me. She kept catching my eye, shimmering in those lights like that. With her head buried in Harry's shoulder, I waited for the imminent jealousy. The feeling that she could never go for a sad little boy like myself; that longing for her to be with me instead. But that feeling couldn't, or wouldn't come. I half wanted to feel that burning passion for her I used to have. I felt like something inside me had crumbled into ashes. Only from those ashes had risen a phoenix of new devotion, hotter and wilder than before.  
  
If I had it in me to be sensible, I would never have stopped to talk to Molly in the first place. Then I wouldn't be stuck on this daft cloud nine, imagining us to be Mr and Mrs Robinson Crusoe. "Daft as a brush", as Gran liked to say. I wondered what she would tell me now.  
  
"Gran," I'd say, with that charming little smile of mine, "I think you should know something about me."  
  
To which she might reply, "You've decided you're gay, have you?"  
  
I'd laugh slightly, taking her hand in mine. She always had her suspicions, dear old Gran.  
  
"No no, but it is a matter of the heart as such. You see.. I've fallen for a lady."  
  
At this, her eyebrow might quirk but the rest of her face would stay still. She wouldn't want to show too much interest in me.  
  
"Yes," I'd continue, "but I think she might be a bit. out of my league."  
  
"Out of your league?" Gran would reply, face still set in stone.  
  
"Yes. Well, she's married. And she's fifty-three." I might notice the look of shock and utter disgust on her face here. But knowing me, I'd have shot myself in the foot and be halfway through digging my own grave by now.  
  
"But that doesn't really matter very much, because I think I'm in love with her. I'm going to ask her to run away with me halfway across the world. I know she'll say yes because she loves me too. Never mind Arthur or the kids- they'll understand. We're doing it for love, Gran. We're doing it for love!" Gran would frown, look down her nose at me in the way that I always feared. She'd speak in a sniffy kind of way, making her consonants extra harsh.  
  
"That's the champagne talking, boy. You're to go straight home and we'll have none of this nonsense tomorrow, thank you very much."  
  
Maybe it was all nonsense. Perhaps I needed a bit of discipline. It could be that my confusion over Ginny and Molly, my lust for a woman three times my age was a result of trauma in my childhood. I just didn't know. All I knew was that I'd had enough of reasoning and analysis. I was going to throw caution to the wind.  
  
I noticed Ginny still staring at me from over Harry's shoulder. Her eyes wore a very particular expression, but I couldn't place it. It seemed like disappointment but there was something else there, almost a kind of pleading. I didn't know what it could all mean. Besides, what could want from me now she had the delectable Harry?  
  
Hermione started up another number, making wild gestures to those on the dance floor. I watched as a about a dozen girls clattered up to the stage in their heels where they started to sing raucously. It was a catchy song, so much so that I allowed myself to tap my foot.  
  
You have to understand that foot-tapping is as far as I'll go with dancing. I, Neville Longbottom, am not the world's worst dancer, but the galaxy's. It's a co-ordination thing. Just when I master the left-together-right- together, the beat changes and I don't know what to do with my arms. I worry about moving my hips and being too provocative. And then I start to panic and end up flat on the old arse before you can say 'lambada'.  
  
It was around that point that I noticed Mr Weasley and Molly moving across the dance floor. Mr Weasley seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the music and looked generally quite flustered.  
  
"Look, Molly.. I'm a bit old for this lark," he wheezed, "I won't spoil your fun." He turned around to go, but Molly stayed there.  
  
"Oh Arthur, stay. I'm not much use either." She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. "But it would be like old times."  
  
Mr Weasley laughed, fiddling with his bow tie.  
  
"Now, Moll. You'd have a lot more fun with a younger model."  
  
Fun with a younger model? Little did he know she'd already traded her rusty old banger in for a shinier one with a better motor.  
  
Molly caught my eye then, and began to laugh falsely.  
  
"Don't be silly, Arthur dear."  
  
"That's enough of that, Moll.," he began, finger pointed at her ceremoniously, "you wanted to dance and dance you shall."  
  
His eyes began to dart around for an eligible bachelor. By this time, Ginny had stopped dancing and was watching them suspiciously. Ron, who was sitting nearby, was also watching them through narrowed eyes.  
  
Mr Weasley's eyes swivelled in my direction, and I realised why Ginny, Ron and Molly were all looking so horrified. She couldn't dance with me! Not in front of the husband!  
  
Not me, I begged him silently, not me, not me, not me!  
  
But his eyes fell upon my face, steely gaze hanging over me. Not me.  
  
"I know," he said; not me, "have a dance with young Neville."  
  
Not me, not me, not me! No! What was I going to do? I couldn't dance with my mistress for the pleasure of her innocent husband. That was wrong- wrong with a capital w. My eyes searched around desperately for an excuse. Think, Longbottom! Come on brain, I told myself, don't give up on me now!  
  
Molly stepped forward, eyes darting back and forth in desperation.  
  
"Um, no, Arthur, I'm alright. Really."  
  
"Why don't you sit down, Mum? Have some champagne!" Ginny took her by the shoulders and began to steer her away, not daring to look at me.  
  
"No no, Virginia," Mr Weasley said, removing Ginny's firm grip on his wife, "Mum wants to dance, she told me so herself."  
  
Ron, who was looking daggers at me, stood up.  
  
"No she doesn't. She doesn't want to dance," he said, still glaring, "do you Mum?" He looked pointedly at her, forbidding her to say anything but "no".  
  
"Yes, that's right," she nodded her head animatedly, "besides, Neville doesn't want to dance with an old bag like myself!"  
  
In our discomfort, Ron, Ginny and I laughed falsely. My laughter seemed to continue for too long as Ron gave me his fantastic shut-your-face- Longbottom look. I stopped immediately, clearing my throat to disguise the laugh as a choking fit.  
  
The situation was becoming very tense.  
  
"Rubbish!" Mr Weasley boomed, clapping his hand on my shoulder. I wished more than anything that he would move it. It stayed, a heavy reminder of our immoral deeds. "You'd like a dance with my lovely wifelet, wouldn't you, lad?"  
  
Oh God, oh God. I couldn't say no, it would sound rude. But if I said yes, I would embarrass us and have Ron and Ginny after my blood. It was time for my appallingly bad lying mechanism to kick in.  
  
"Well, of course I'd like to dance, Mr Weasley, but," I hesitated, staring around wildly for an excuse, "I'm recovering from the effects of a nasty curse."  
  
A curse? Why in the name of all that is sacred did I say a curse? Foolish, foolish, foolish Neville!  
  
"Yes," I continued, looking to see if he was buying it, "it's quite a rare one. You lose all feeling in your legs and well.." I was lost. What would Hermione have said? "You never quite recover from it. Much as I'd love to dance, I'd probably collapse and embarrass your, er, lovely wifelet."  
  
Ron and Ginny nodded, making sounds of false sympathy.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't want that," bumbled Mr Weasley, "but it would only be a little dance. We could swap partners halfway through if you liked. You'll be my partner, won't you, Ginny?"  
  
The prospect of being a part of this sick game almost made Ginny choke. She was turning a shade of red to rival my own.  
  
"Me? I've got two left feet, Dad, don't be silly!"  
  
You could tell that the four of us were silently willing Mr Weasley to shut up and leave the whole thing alone. But he was quite persistent.  
  
"What are you all up to?" he asked, a bemused little smile on his face. We listened as a new, familiar melody began, knowing full well what was going to happen next.  
  
"This one's a classic!" he grinned. "It would be a crime not to dance to this." Then theatrically, he extended his hand to Ginny, who could do nothing but take it. Molly and I looked desperately at each other. What could we do now?  
  
Like I was walking to my death, I held out my hand for her. In deathly slow motion, she took it. We didn't look at each other. One look could reveal everything in this poisonous tango.  
  
I noticed that beads of sweat were forming on her skin. We were close, dangerously close. So close that I wasn't even sure if it was her heart or mine racing.  
  
All the while, Ron glared. Hermione came up to him at one point, wanting a dance but he just stood and watched us silently. High on wedding day emotions, Hermione made a point of storming off. Ron, however, didn't even notice.  
  
The time came to switch partners. Ginny held me rigidly. She refused to look at me, and when she did it was that disappointed glance.  
  
And then, it happened.  
  
"Molly!" Arthur explained. "The bottom of your dress is all wet."  
  
He didn't know how near he was to the truth. One look at the bottom of my trousers could reveal it all. Why the hell hadn't we thought to dry them? A simple spell was all it would have taken. One tiny spell could have saved our skins!  
  
His eyes roamed the floor. Please, I begged him inwardly, don't look at me! Please! I watched Ginny take a fleeting glance at my feet. Her expression turned to one of horror and betrayal. Don't give me away, Ginny! Don't catch her looking at me!  
  
Only he did. And in a split second that seemed to last a thousand years, he looked at me from head to toe. His eyes lingered on my feet, his face initially blank. Then-  
  
"Neville, you're wet too."  
  
Oh dear God.  
  
Ron's head whipped round and he was staring at me with utter contempt. I'd said I wouldn't see her again. I'd lied.  
  
"What.." Mr Weasley was beginning to understand. "What have you both been doing?"  
  
Together. What have we both been doing together? You could see the word turning around his brain. In just a few seconds, he could know all about us. We would be ruined. He would be ruined. Everything, as we knew it, would be ruined.  
  
One look from Molly was all it took. That meaningful look, the one which tells you that danger is imminent and straight ahead.  
  
The look which tells you to run. 


	16. Spreading our wings

In that split second, we broke into a run. I didn't dare look behind us. I knew they would be following. Adrenaline coursed through my veins- did he really know about us? I could hear him shouting somewhere in the distance. Faintly aware of my asthma, I wanted to stop. But she kept on running, running.  
  
"Where," I gasped, "are we running to?"  
  
She didn't reply. She took a quick glance over her shoulder and continued.  
  
Now I could hear Ron and Ginny's voices too. I quickened my pace. I felt like I had sprouted wings and taken off- I was running far beyond my limits. With each step came more panic. He knew. He knew. He knew! He knew!  
  
She skidded to a halt in the car park, by the pale blue Anglia I had lay on earlier. I knew by their pounding footsteps that they were close.  
  
She muttered a few words. The car unlocked, and she opened the door.  
  
"In here."  
  
With the three Weasleys in hot pursuit, I didn't hesitate. I practically hurled myself into the passenger seat. She started the engine.  
  
It sputtered and clicked and whirred. She swore, hitting the steering wheel hard. Come on, I begged the car, come on!  
  
She kept trying. I suddenly saw Mr Weasley's face pressed against the window. Oh God. He had reached us. Come on!  
  
"Molly!" he kept mouthing. "Molly!" He was begging her, banging on the windows, trying to unlock the doors. Ginny was holding Ron back, whose eyes burned with the rage of the beast.  
  
"We have to go!" I told her, as Ron broke free and hurled a stone in our direction. Somewhere near the back of the car we heard a crack and the sound of shattering glass.  
  
She tried once more, and suddenly, miraculously, it worked. But instead of driving, strangely, we were taking off! She didn't even look at her husband and two children as we left the ground. In fact, escaping from her beloved family in a flying car seemed completely normal to her.  
  
Then I remembered. Harry and Ron had once got into trouble for driving a flying car to Hogwarts. This must be it, their famous trusty steed. How unfortunate that it was now our means of escape!  
  
I watched as we flew over fields and then sea. Neither of us said a word. It hadn't really sunk in.  
  
"Where are we going?" I finally asked. I wasn't even sure if she knew herself.  
  
She didn't look at me.  
  
"As far away as we can."  
  
And then it hit me very, very hard. We were running away together- like I had dreamed! It was just her, me and a flying Ford Anglia from now on. The adventures we could have! Imagine- a woman- running away with me! It was crazy, so completely mad and yet so exciting.  
  
I didn't think she felt much like talking, so I turned my attentions to the scenery below. I had never seen anything like it. For one thing, I had never seen the ground from below before. There was that rather catastrophic time on a broomstick, but I had been too frightened to look down then. Now, however, I lapped it up. Everything looked so small, and looking down on the world, I couldn't help but feel a great sense of power.  
  
The view of the Gods, witnessed by a tubby love-rat and his menopausal mistress.  
  
I was drifting somewhere along the clouds when she suddenly took her hands off the wheel and put her feet up on the dashboard. I panicked. What the bloody hell did she think she was doing? I mean, I'd heard muggles talk condescendingly about women drivers, but surely they weren't that stupid?  
  
"Mrs Weasley!" I gasped. "You'll get us killed!"  
  
"No I won't," she said, shaking her head with a knowing smile, "Arthur made this car fly.. Among other things."  
  
The second she had said his name, her face fell. I didn't want her to be upset. Did she have regrets? I knew that she loved him- but if she was willing to make this sacrifice, somewhere she must have loved me too.  
  
"You mean, it knows where we're going?" I asked. I only knew the basics about muggle cars, that they used a wheel to steer and occasionally had to fill them up with special car juice. But I did know that it was the driver who knew the route and not the car. Seamus and Dean had once taken Ron and I for a ride in theirs and I remember thinking how funny it was the muggles had to make all that effort to get somewhere. Yes, apparating was tricky but there weren't half so many buttons and gadgets and levers and pedals to learn about.  
  
"Well.. In a few words, Neville, no. When Arthur-" she became sad again, "enchanted the car, he added a little feature that only the two of us knew about. It must have been the romantic in him- you see, the car can choose where we're going. We'd end up in all sorts of funny destinations whenever we tried it. Once we flew into a muggle beach and he had to call the ministry in to administer memory charms to all those poor-"  
  
I didn't really want to hear about her husband any more, so I turned my attentions back to the view below. I wasn't particularly impressed with Mr Weasley's great idea. Honestly- a car that chose where it was taking you. Suppose we ended up in the middle of a funeral or something. That was hardly romantic.  
  
I began to dislike Mr Weasley after that. What was the point of making a car fly anyway? What a waste of time- not to mention money. No wonder everybody said the Weasleys were poor if their dad was spending all their money on muggle junk! It didn't occur to me that I was simply jealous at the time- he was, after all, the man she had loved for years. Instead I just sat there, silently seething about that annoying tuft of hair he had in the middle of his head. Why didn't he cut it off? Looked ridiculous. Stupid Mr Weasley.  
  
Arthur. What a stupid name.  
  
I must've spent a while in my childish state, as I suddenly realised that the car was landing. Luckily, it had chosen a sensible area. Well, sensible in the fact that nobody was around to see a car materialise out of thin air. Not very sensible in that we were on a cliff, god knows where.  
  
She just sat there with the invisibility switch on so that nobody could see us. I wondered what she was thinking about. Then I realised with a familiar disappointment that it could only have been regret. She had left so much behind. Much as I wanted to, I knew that it wouldn't be fair to keep her here. So I put on my decent-gentlemanly-Neville charm and spoke for the good of her own happiness.  
  
"If you want to go back, Molly, I'll understand. I mean, you've got a life there. I'm still trying to find mine."  
  
A small smile crossed her lips, but her eyes remained lost. It seemed hard for her to find the words.  
  
"Even if I wanted to," she began shakily, "I couldn't. There wouldn't be any home for me there now."  
  
She turned around, looking straight into my eyes.  
  
"Don't you understand? Do you understand what I've done to them? I betrayed them- deserted the lot of them! I'll never have another chance with Arthur. Even," she paused for breath, and I noticed tears forming, "even if Arthur did take me back, I couldn't face it. Knowing that I'd- well-"  
  
Seeing her unhappy made me feel awful, but I couldn't help the wave of joy rising up in me. She was going to stay!  
  
"Well, we'd better make the best of things then," I said, opening my door and stepping out. The air was fresh and tasted of salt. The sun was just starting to come up, and everything looked altogether unreal. I knew then that this was the dawning of a new day. There would no more clumsy or stupid Neville. I could wave goodbye to angst-ridden Neville and forget about always-saying-the-wrong-thing Neville. There was no past, only present and future. I made a vow to myself to live for the moment. Carpe diem, as the Romans said. Yes.. Carpe diem!  
  
Of course, being Neville Longbottom I had to change my mind somewhere along the line. Living for the moment was a bit risky- I wasn't exactly the type to go jumping off buildings for the sake of it, really.  
  
I heard the other door shut and felt her standing beside me.  
  
"Seagulls," was all she said. Together we watched the birds circle and swoop. Why did everything feel so surreal with her?  
  
I couldn't help thinking of childhood holidays with Gran and my various great-uncles and aunts. Back then, I could never understand how they could just stand on the beach and look at things. Wouldn't it have been more fun to make sandcastles, or go dipping in rock pools for anemones which sucked on your fingers than to just look? I was still learning to appreciate nature's beauty. I had found it in plants- in my babies, which-  
  
My plants!  
  
I would never see them again, or the Hag, or Ariadne and her strange ways. I would never see my Gran again, and God knows I needed her discipline! And I loved her and home to bits. They were, essentially what kept me sane. Now there would be no more mornings in the green house or evenings with the surly mute. No more would I sit with Gran for her evening drink, knowing better than to speak. I wouldn't see my mum and dad again, not that it really made any difference to them. I had left it all behind.  
  
Now I knew what the distant look in Molly's eyes meant. She was leaving everything that she had ever loved for someone she barely knew.  
  
And all because of my terrible, terrible luck. I was a bad omen; a thousand ladders to walk under and several black cats. I didn't find trouble, quite the opposite. Trouble always found me, no matter where I tried to hide. And this time was no exception. If it hadn't been for me, she would be celebrating her youngest son's wedding right now.  
  
I told her I was sorry. She looked at me, amber eyes growing wide with determination.  
  
"Never be sorry," she told me. I was immediately brought back to that moment long ago in her bedroom, with its brown paisley quilt and cracked windows. She'd stood before me enraged, hand raised and about to strike. For a reason I didn't know, I'd said sorry to her. That was when she looked straight into my eyes and told me those words. Never be sorry.  
  
Those words gave me strength. To say them, she had to believe them. Never be sorry meant no regrets. It wasn't a perfect situation we were in now, but we had to make the most of it for each other. If we made the most of it, it just might work.  
  
"Do you really believe that?" I asked her, enveloping her hand in my fingers. Her warmth ran through me, taking away any fears or doubts that I'd had.  
  
A nod was her only reply, but it was enough.  
  
"Never be sorry," I repeated quietly, and we turned on the cliff top to find a home for us. 


End file.
